


Gap Year

by imperfectkreis



Series: Witches and Warriors [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Het, Memory Loss, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Courier wakes up with only a vague idea of who she is. The problem is, the memories of being a Tribal girl and childhood friend of her murderer doesn't make any sense. How does a Tribal girl know how to hack robots and use an energy weapon? Why would a man who kissed her till she was dizzy on the carpeted floor of the Tops turn around and put a bullet in her brain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Between Twenty and Twenty-One

Mint tried to ignore the familiar throbbing in her head. Between the bullet and the constant battle with dehydration, the outlook was not so hot. It was difficult to believe that she had spent her entire life in the Mojave; she didn't feel like she was built for this unrelenting punishment.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Veronica was sitting by the campfire tinkering with ED-E in her lap. If she wasn't sure the robot was deactivated, Mint would of thought she could hear the thing purr with contentment.

"I don't have a choice." Mint looked north, toward the Strip. The lights twinkled in the distance against the dense blanket of dark sky. The world always seemed so dark after the blinding sand of the day. Tomorrow they would reach Freeside and start prowling for a way in. They were two intelligent, industrious young women, they'd find a way.

Mint's mind was still a mess. Her memories felt like currents. One minute she was sure she knew who she was and the next it all seemed far away. Like maybe it had all been in a movie she was mistaking for her her own life. The reels had gotten spliced together all wrong.

ED-E whirled back to life as Veronica clicked it back on and took up guard position. It would diligently alert them to any trouble during the night. It was a real luxury to not have to sleep in shifts. They made better time during the day because of the robot, even if it was a finicky thing that had a bad habit of seeking out trouble instead of merely warning them to its presence.

"He might know who I am. Like really know. I have so many memories of him. I don't know, it's so hard to tell."

When Mint first woke up in Doc Mitchell's home, she seemed to have a host of memories revolving around the man in the checkered coat. The plainest was the shot to the head, but others seemed equally vivid. None were nearly as disturbing as her murder and most seemed simple, kind, and affectionate. She remembered walking alongside him, her hands shoved in her trouser pockets. He wasn't wearing the coat, they were both rougher, covered in dirt and dust. She was a child, maybe fourteen, and he couldn't have been older than twenty. He told her how he was going to make things right, that he was going to lead them to find a way to keep the tribe safe, even if it meant going against Bingo.

She didn't know who Bingo was and at the time she couldn't remember the name of this man she had so many memories of. She knew now that he was Benny. He was Benny and she was Mint and she was sure that on her seventeenth birthday he had kissed her. Her palms were sweaty even though the room had been cool.

Maybe they hadn't been her memories at all. There wasn't one to explain how she ended up face-first in a grave.

Veronica snuffed out the campfire with sand and offered her hand to help Mint to her feet. The shack they had commandeered had a door but no latch. The sun had set long enough ago that the inside was no longer sweltering. They had unrolled their sleeping bags before eating dinner and Mint was thankful that she didn't have to go through the effort now. As hard as it was to stay awake, sleep seemed equally daunting.

–

Mint always seemed to wake earlier than Veronica. V claimed that her internal clock was completely fucked from living in a hole in the ground. She was never quite sure which way round was dawn. Mint rummaged through her pack and took two Mentats. They would help her headache, at least for a bit.

"Aww, you really are my favorite junkie." Veronica was stretching like a cat. Her fists nearly bumped into the wall of the shack as she extended her body lewdly. A hint of her stomach was exposed between her shorts and cotton shirt. Mint certainly wasn't immune to the scribe's charms but she couldn't risk fucking this up, not when they were so close getting her sorted out.

Veronica talked about nothing at all while they got dressed and packed up the few possessions they had strewed around. ED-E seemed happy to see them alive and well. It buzzed merrily around Mint's head as they set off. The two women split a box of Sugar Bombs as they walked, eager to make as much progress as possible before the sun and the heat made walking unbearable. Mint would have sworn that she dreamt about apples and carrots and baked bread, anything but this irradiated shit.

Really she had dreamt about herself as a dirty-faced child. She was learning to fire a rifle and she was terrible at it. The kickback was too much for her light frame and the bullets never seemed to go where she intended. Her instructor was a big brute of a woman with little patience. It was hard to imagine how a person got that big when there never seemed to be enough food around. Maybe the woman with hands like dinner plates had eaten it all and that's why the children went hungry. They sucked the marrow out of molerat bones and proclaimed it a feast.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier..." Veronica started. They were holding hands now. Mint wasn't sure for how long. Both their hands were sweaty, but they held on. "That the memories don't seem like your own. Do you think someone could have planted them?"

Mint shook her head, violently curly tufts of dark brown hair falling in front of her eyes. She broke contact with Veronica and tied her hair back again. "I mean, I don't think so. Can people even do that?"

"I heard about this doctor, a neurosurgeon I think. Ex-Enclave. The Brotherhood were trying to keep track of him. Precautionary measures, you know? He's been around the Mojave for awhile now, at least we think. They lost track of him after HELIOS." Veronica's pronouns always shifted when she spoke of the Brotherhood, 'we,' 'them,' 'us,' 'it.' It was terrifying neither of them knew where they stood in the world.

"If they're not my memories I've got nothing at all." Mint had been searching desperately for confirmation. She realized that the only hope she had was Benny confirming the memories already in her mind. But if they weren't hers, there was nothing left for her to fall back on.

She had a memory of ED-E, all in pieces on the counter of the Mojave Express office in Primm. Upon arriving at the overrun town after her 'accident' she sneaked into the little run-down shop and found it exactly as she remembered. Barring the door with a chair, a weak attempt to keep the convicts out, she set to work reviving the robot and after three quarters of an hour it came to life.

But that didn't make sense, did it? How did a tribal girl know how to rewire an Enclave bot? It had come so naturally.

They reached Freeside in the early evening. Still plenty of time to find lodging, hopefully a bath, and set to work finding a way into the Strip. They'd spend the night in Freeside and hopefully storm the Tops first thing in the morning.

Once inside the gate, Veronica went to work trying to make herself less conspicuous. The scribe was particularly cautious about her identity being discovered, though she had been open and friendly with Mint right from the start. Mint didn't know much about the Brotherhood. She had, however, heard enough mumblings when their name was mentioned to assume that Veronica wasn't being all that paranoid in her rituals. She stashed away her power fist and laser pistol in exchange for a set of brass knuckles and a pristine 10mm.

They wandered through the streets without much of a sense of urgency. Half a dozen caps "donated" to one of the kids running about got them the information that they should look for a room at the Wrangler and someone named "the King" was the person to see in regards to getting into the Strip.

Mint twirled her baseball bat around like it was a marching band baton. She had seen a holotape once, she thought, and went on to imitate the elaborate patterns the smiling, fresh-faced girls had executed so perfectly. Where had she seen the holotape?

They made it to a corner building labeled, helpfully "The King's School of Impersonation." Excellent.

The King was polite and well-spoken. The same couldn't be said for Pacer, a plain looking man with too much brashness and too little sense, who had demanded 50 caps for an audience with the King.

But like everyone else the King wanted a favor for a favor and Mint felt like they just didn't have the time. Still, they parted on good terms. The King put his hand on Veronica's arm before the left and asked her to come see him again. They could barely contain their laughter until they were out the door.

"So how do you suppose we're going to get past those Securitrons. I mean, we watched them toast the refugee earlier."

"They're just robots, right?" Mint looked up at ED-E, the mystery that it was. "You and I, we know robots."

"That's true. But if it's as simple as knowing robots, you'd think that someone else would have figured them out already."

Mint shrugged, "Maybe they have. How would we know?"

"You sure are a weird one, Miss Mint." Veronica messed with her hair under the confines of her hood.

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, "I'm the weird one in this duo."

ED-E buzzed.

"Trio." Mint popped a Mentat. This would be her last before bed, she swore.

–

Mint woke before Veronica, again. Her arm was draped over the scribe's torso. They were huddled together in the narrow bed at the Atomic Wrangler that they had shared. It was time to get going.

Even though she had showered the night before, Mint made her way to the bathroom again, one, well, maybe two tasks had hand. The water was cool and pure and she let it run into her mouth, spitting it out when her mouth felt full and repeating the process. She wasn't built for the Mojave.

She closed her eyes and ran through another memory. She was laying on her back, the plush camel colored carpet of Benny's suite soft against her back. She was twenty and in a purple dress. No one had even seen a purple dress before. New Vegas was full of things that none of them had seen before and even months on they were all discovering odds and ends that made their new home seem very strange indeed.

Benny came in, not expecting her and plopped down on the floor right next to her. He had gotten paler, even over a few short months. They were all getting less sun. Her skin was still darker than his. He sat next to her and counted the freckles on her face until she felt utterly self-conscious.

She was twenty-two now. Something must have happened in the intervening years. But it wasn't there. She did have a memory from twenty-one, but Benny wasn't in it. There was a tall blonde man with glasses. He punched her in the arm and she tackled him to the ground in retaliation. His white coat got covered in dust but they both smiled through it. The memory was fond but it was also wrong. She was wearing clean, pressed slacks and a shirt with buttons. All her memories of the tribe were in boys cast-offs. All her memories of the Tops were dresses or nothing at all. This one she was sharp, professional. When the blonde smiled at her she felt the same way as when Benny kissed the side of her mouth at first, but it was followed by a dull ache. All of Benny's memories were searing. What had happened between twenty and twenty-one?


	2. Options A, B, & C

Mint's dreams were vivid, even when she was awake.

She dreamt of the tall blonde man in the white lab coat. He was fiddling with the Pip-boy on her arm. Not this Pip-boy, the one the Doc gave her. Another one that was filled with holotapes, holotapes with baton twirlers and children's birthday parties. The blonde played with her Pip-boy while it was still attached to her arm. After awhile all the blood had drained from her fingertips after her arm was propped up in front of his face for too long. She didn't mind because he smelled wonderful. Like dust and crushed flowers and cactus water.

Mint and Veronica stood in front of the massive wooden doors of the Old Mormon Fort armed with another name from another donation that might be able to help them access the Strip, Julie Farkas. Their fingers were laced together and Mint would deny that her hands were shaking. There was a breeze through her armor and she was cold, that was all. Only the Mojave was never cold. She had been cold once, somewhere. Over-circulated air chilling her straight through. Not here though.

The gate swung open entirely too fast for something so imposing, like a Brahmin slipping around on roller skates. Inside it smelled like vomit and pus and dust. Whole fucking world smelled of dust. It got into everything. Benny teased her that it was in her blood, in her mother's blood. There were never any memories of her mother. Benny and Swank and the woman with dinner-plate-hands, but never her mother. There was dust in her blood, that's why she never got sun burnt.

Julie was pretty and sweet and smart. She would have made an excellent third, no wait, fourth (sorry ED-E) addition to their pack. Her hands worked at refilling syringes as she spoke. One of her colleagues had been to the Strip recently. As far as Julie knew, Emily was still there, working on some robot. She had a knack for technology. Mint listened, V paced.

After thanking the Follower for her help, Mint was more convinced than ever that she and Veronica could reprogram the bots guarding the gate. Between V's Brotherhood education and Mint's...abilities from an unknown source, they could figure this shit out. Bots were, by their very nature, predictable.

Mint's memories were anything but.

"Callie?"

Mint responded to a name she had not known was hers.

"Y-yes." The word was heavy in her mouth, but she knew that name. It was as much her name as Mint. It was either both or neither. She couldn't be sure.

"Callie!" The blonde who made her ache, dully. He swept her up and pressed her close against his chest. He was big enough that she was on her toes. No one else was as large in comparison to her. Dust and crushed flower petals and cactus water. Black rimmed glasses and a cautious smile. Arcade.

"Arcade." Like a lead bullet on her tongue. She remembered this man without really knowing him.

"Callie, Callie, Callie...where have you been?" He mumbled onto the top of her head. She wasn't short, not by a long shot. Quite a bit tall compared to other women. Even most men stood an inch or so shorter than her. But Arcade dwarfed her. She remembered this.

"Got shot in the head," her tone was deliberately suspicious. "How long have I been gone?"

Mint glanced over to where Veronica was standing. The scribe was, reasonably, on edge. She was biting the inside of her cheek, just wanting to say something.

Arcade looked at her quizzically. "Shot in the head? Do you not remember?" His hands moved through her hair, searching for evidence of her wound. His fingers lingered on the scar that had been hidden under dark curls. It was small and flat and barely noticeable.

"Some things, not others." She could be honest, or she could be suspicious. Suspicious would get her nowhere other than being alive a bit longer than being honest. Time to opt for honest.

"Do you know me?" It was an odd question to pose to Arcade when they were already so deep into the conversation.

"You're, I don't know, Callie...what is it you do remember?" His concern was becoming more pronounced.

"I remember you. Though I didn't know your name until just now, until you called me 'Callie.'" Maybe she had twenty-two names, one for each year of her life. "I have...memories of wrestling in the dirt." Arcade nodded at that admission, must have been true and frequent.

"You would knock me over. You've always been strong for your size. Like 300 pounds of super mutant in a woman's body."

"I remember that you like me...but not too much." She couldn't think of a more tactful or clearer way to express the sour feeling, the dull ache she felt while around him.

That made him smile, quirk his lips, really.

"Yeah, I guess not too much." He punched her in the arm. "You got a new Pip-boy."

"If only I knew where I got the last one," she admitted sheepishly.

Puzzlement, again. "From the vault, Vaultie."

No, this didn't make sense at all. She had dust in her blood. Tribal girl with tribal memories.

"I don't remember the vault."

Veronica had remained suspiciously silent. Maybe she thought it wasn't her place to intervene in such a personal conversation. More than anything, Mint wanted V's fingers laced through her own. It would ground her, at least a little bit.

"You came out of Vault 3...at least that's what you told me, maybe when you were 19 or so?"

No memories stirred.

"No, that was about when I moved to the Strip."

Arcade shrugged. "I didn't meet you until you were 20, maybe two years back? You told me you came out of Vault 3. Fiends killed everyone while you were out with a scouting group. You had to flee after that. Figured it was a sensitive subject, wasn't my place to pry. You never mentioned the Strip though."

No memories of parents. Not a mother who was so much like her it made her shooting instructor boil with rage. Her mamma was too good for the rifle too.

Mint closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. It was only then that she felt Veronica's hand deliberately rubbing against her spine, soothing. V really was the best. The absolute best.

"I-I need to think." Mint rummaged around in her pockets for her Mentat pack. Arcade's concerned look grew accusatory.

"Your head."

"It's real fucked up, Arcade." Her hands were shaking, seizing while the rest of her body held still. "V, let's go back to the Wrangler, yeah?" Mint could sense Veronica nodding from her position behind her. "Arcade, you'll be here, right? If I remember...or if I need help?"

"Yeah, I'm not exactly the adventurous type, you know. Or maybe you don't know."

"Don't know much about anything."

"Lay off these." He snatched the half empty Mentat's pack from her hands. No bother, she had more in her pack back at the Wrangler. Mint nodded in response, but it was a lie.

–

"Is your hole in the ground like a Vault?" Mint questioned

Veronica shrugged in the half-light. Mint had a headache that wouldn't quit, even with the drugs. "Not really. Different designers, meant for different purposes."

"But you've been in a Vault, right?"

"Oh sure, I would scav in the open ones for supplies for the fam. They freak out a lot of Wastelanders, so they're still full of the good stuff."

Mint propped herself up on her elbows to look at Veronica who was seated in a worn out armchair across the room. "Which one makes more sense, Tribal or Vaultie?"

"Is there an option C?"

"Fuck all, I hope not." She let her head thump back onto the too-soft pillow. "My skills all point to Vaultie, right? Science, meds, not bad with a laser pistol..." Mint fiddled with the knobs on the Pip-boy Doc had given her. "Knew how this piece of crap worked right away."

She ran through her vital stats. Picture perfect health. Couldn't really detect the headache. Wasn't designed for that sort of stuff.

"But then the memories are all of me as this dirty faced tribal girl. Benny's there and he's protecting me, keeping everyone else away..."

There was a new memory there. Two men yelling outside the shelter. They were yelling about her and her absent mother. Benny had her pressed close, his arms around her, as if trying to shelter her from the noise. No, there were two overlapping memories of the same scene. In one she was young, truly young, eight maybe. The men were yelling about her mother. Benny was thirteen. They were both terrified and clung to each other out of fear, but Benny pretended it was only for her sake. He was tough. He would be chief one day. He promised her.

The second memory was later, much later. She was sixteen and the men outside were yelling about her. They said the same vicious things they had said about her mamma.

Benny was holding her again, but he was not afraid. Neither was she. She was shaking out of anger. She wanted to murder both men, tear them apart with her bare hands, rough as any boy her own age. Still, Benny murmured in her ear to be patient. He would kill them for her. He'd set the whole Mojave aflame if it suited him. The hilt of a combat knife was in her palm. She squeezed it tightly and then loosened her grip. Her other hand was clutching Benny's shirt. If he didn't kill them soon, she would take matters into her own hands.

No, he wasn't keeping them away from her. He was keeping her away from them.


	3. Braiiiins

Mint dreamt of Benny and woke up next to Veronica. Ever since the 188, Veronica had stood by her side, if for no other reason than she was interesting. Veronica was interested in her. Memories or not, maybe even because the memories were so haphazard. Mint couldn't blame V if her interest was purely scientific. Hell, if their roles were reversed, Mint might look at the scribe with intense curiosity as well.

Sure that Veronica wouldn't wake until Mint forcibly prompted her, she took account of her own body. Mint had, weeks ago, assessed herself for clues to her identity.

She was taller than most Wastelanders, even the men. Fitter too. She wasn't all skin and bones like those who had survived thus far on scavenged, irradiated leftovers from 200 years past. Her build wasn't all that different than Veronica's in that sense, someone who had access to food and water and but also engaged in strenuous physical activity. Many of the other women in the Wastes were...different. Their pants hung off bony hips but their arms lacked any sort of muscle tone. Their eyes looked hollow, men and women both.

Between Goodsprings and Freeside she hadn't encountered many Tribals in close quarters. Legion, sure, but Mint wasn't quite sure if that counted. No females to compare herself to when it came to Legion anyway. They had seen Khans from a distance, but they didn't pick useless fights and neither did she.

Were Vaulties soft? Doc was the only former-vault dweller she had encountered and he was too old to make an assessment. But the mere fact he was one of the oldest people she encountered in the Wastes counted in his favor. Even without the safety of metal walls and food dispensers, he had thrived. His was still the nicest house she had been in. He was skilled, sharp, and unjaded.

...But what if there was an option C...

Mint rolled over to face Veronica, still sleeping. Veronica claimed she didn't dream. Mint only had her dreams.

Veronica's lips were soft and sure, even in a half-awake state. Mint had kissed her before, in a teasing, friendly sort of way. But they always stopped before things got too far. This time, she could feel Veronica smiling against her lips. Their suspiciously healthy teeth clattered against each other.

Veronica's fingers traced along the hem of Mint's boxer shorts. Mint rolled on top of the scribe and ground her hips against Veronica's broader ones. The friction was sharp and sweet. They continued to smile against one another. This felt good, but distant, even though it was happening in the present. Mint thought she should have been able to trust the present, at least. The problem was there were always those memories threatening to burst through in all their vivid glory. Like that dam people kept pestering her about.

Mint's dark, curly hair cast a curtain over them both as she leaned over to bring their lips together over and over again. Veronica was pushing back with her hips, lifting Mint up a bit and causing her to rock on the balls of her feet. Maybe it didn't matter so much who Mint was.

After a few minutes they both came to their senses and prepared for their day. They never really talked about what was happening between them. It happened or it didn't and then it stopped.

On the dresser was a stack of Dean's Electronics that Mint had looked over the night before. She copied some of the relevant passages to her Pip-boy so she wouldn't have to tote around the hard copy versions.

Veronica holstered her pistol and tossed Mint the laser one. It was starting to look worse for the wear, but Mint wasn't the best shot and it often took more rounds than entirely necessary to make sure something was good and dead. After all, it turned out humans were a fuck of a lot harder to kill than anyone expected. Nuclear bombs, shots to the head, certain starvation. People were tough fucks.

Downstairs Francine was manning the bar. Mint made sure to drop off enough caps for the following night, just in case they failed in their attempt to make it into Vegas and had to, yet again, reassess the situation. They had packed all their things, leaving only the old books behind in the room. Francine said that was fine, if they didn't come back she'd just sell 'em if it was all the same to Mint.

The corpse of that unlucky squatter taken out by the bots had yet to be disposed of. No one cared since the streets always smelled or rot, no matter what the circumstance. Everything about settlements smelled wrong to Mint. Veronica smelled nice, so did Arcade. The two of them and the open Wasteland, when she and Veronica were miles away from the nearest town, when the stench of other people and their livestock (sometimes one and the same) were nowhere to be found.

"Hello, friendly bot!" Mint was enthusiastic. Robots could read emotions, but only very clear, direct ones. Happiness was probably a better choice than fear.

"Passport or submit to a credit check."

Mint smiled. It was easy to do so, she liked bots. "Well, letsee here...activate PDQ-88b recall code violet."

As the words passed from Mint's lips it was obvious that something was wrong. The Securitron's screen went dark and Mint's Pip-boy sputtered on her wrist, the screen went dark and would flash back to light. Then the entirety of her vision copied the pattern. The world around Mint went dark, then it was too bright and blinded her. She felt, distantly, like she was shaking. After three cycles she found herself sitting against a crumbling wall, only feet from the corpse. Veronica was holding out a bottle of water and had an open snack cake in her other hand.

"The fuck was that?"

"Well, you fried the bot pretty good. Shut straight down and got the attention of the others just out of earshot. So in that sense it worked." Veronica let an exaggerated pause hang in the air. "You also short circuited your Pip-boy and from the looks of it, scrambled your brain...again. It's like you're trying to be a basket case."

Mint groaned and redirected her eyes to her Pip-boy, the screen was dark and there was evidence of burn marks around her wrist. She didn't technically have to look at those to know they were there, but seeing them confirmed why she was in so much pain.

"Why the fuck," Mint fiddled with the Pip-boy strap, trying to wretch it off, "would my brain scramble from a bot command?"

"Do I get three guesses? I love guessing games!"

"Guess one is not that I'm a robot. Let's not even go there. I can't go there." Mint was pretty sure she wasn't a robot. Her accuracy was too fucking low. The Pip-boy loosened, but in the end she didn't remove it entirely, just let it hang from her arm.

"So that doctor who put your brain back together," Veronica started.

"Doc Mitchell."

"Vault doctor, yeah?" Mint nodded and let V continue. "Say your brain gets blown out, from, for instance, a douchebag with a 9mm. Brain matter everywhere, right? What do you replace that with?"

"For fuck's sake, V, I cannot take this"

"Robobrain!"

"I said being a robot isn't an option. Come up with something else, V."

"I didn't say you were a robot. Just...braaaains!"

"Fuck you, V. Let's just get inside before someone realizes what we've done." Mint stood up and brushed some dirt off of her pants. Plenty of grime remained behind.

Just as Veronica had indicated, they were able to get through the gate with no further issues.

Something seized inside Mint's truly human chest. She was afraid. She wanted to turn around and run back to the Old Mormon Fort and throw herself against Arcade.

Something was telling her that toward Vegas was the wrong direction. The bright lights and cheerful colors of the Tops casino pulled her forward against her better judgement. Those memories of the carpet and a purple dress that must have been hers pulled her forward.

She brushed off the robot that approached her. It had been "following" her for weeks now, always concerned with her well being. Where the fuck was it when she was trying to get inside the Strip? It reminded her it was best to meet with Mr. House sooner rather than later. She'd just as soon put a bullet through the old man's brain. There was a lot of that kind of hospitality going around.


	4. Dead Girls' Graves

The Tops was thinly populated. The buildings of the Strip had been built in an over-populated world. Mint imagined at one time all the seats at the fabric lined tables could have been occupied by smartly dressed gamblers with pudgy bellies and full alcohol glasses. Everything about the world now was empty. Buildings were too large for the meager population and spaces always seemed oversized.

Only the liquor remained. Liquor and canned food and tables with cloth surfaces. Mint's vodka burned as it splashed down her throat.

Veronica was playing cards discretely as Mint surveyed their surroundings for the man in the checkered coat.

On their way in, Mint had caught a glimpse of Swank out of the corner of her eye. In a rush to get past the doorman, she relinquished all her weapons, even the one she had meant to retain, a thin switch blade she could thrash around with if it came to the worst. If she had been recognized, there might have been no hope of making it to Benny. Or maybe that would have made their task easier. There was no way to know. The reason for Mint's departure from the Tops was still missing from her memories. That fucking missing year.

Mint ascended the few steps up from the blackjack tables and headed back towards the entrance to loop around the floor one more time. Veronica held her position and flirted half-halfheartedly with the young, fresh-faced dealer. The kid looked like he had never seen the Mojave sun. Couldn't have been older than 16.

And there was the checkered coat, a Chairman to either side of him looking bored with their lot in life. Benny had told her that they were all getting a bit soft, but soft wasn't a bad thing. Soft and alive sounded better than hard and dead.

She approached Benny's turned back, not bothering to hide her presence. The bodyguards would only think her a threat if she gave them reason to. Maybe they would even recognize her. Maybe they would shoot her dead in any case.

Mint stopped six feet behind her target and waited for him to turn around. The look on Benny's face was as if he had seen a ghost. From his perspective he most certainly had.

"Smooth, keep it smooth doll..." He was visibly agitated. "Smooth like little babies..."

Even though the cigarette between his fingers was far from finished he put it out on one of the golden ashtrays that punctuated the floor and lit a fresh one. He offered a second one to Mint. She took it and coughed up when the smoke hit the back of her throat.

"Why don't you and I go to our room, Benny?" She had meant to sound seductive, and failed. If anything she sounded slightly feral. That could work too, right?

"Pussycat, all you and I got in common is a bullet." He took another confident drag.

Mint screwed her face, she needed to get him separated. She needed her answers.

She changed tactics. Scanning the memories that had returned to her since she woke up, she stopped being Courier Six, stopped being the woman who had killed her way across the Mojave and into this confrontation and shared a bed with a runaway Brotherhood scribe and instead melted into that girl in her memories, the one in the purple dress.

"Benny..." She held his hand, cautiously at first, running her thumb over the back of his hand, over the ridges of his knuckles. She remembered this. She couldn't remember those same hands tying her wrists together and blindfolding her, dragging her to Goodsprings Cemetery. But it must have been him. Those moments before her death were unimportant compared with the way she was now sure she used to run her fingers over his knuckles. Touching him, even in this chaste way, confirmed that her memories of him had to be real.

"Doll, how do you..." Benny's demeanor had softened for a moment before becoming unreadable again. Still, he twined his fingers with hers and led her away, indicating to the other Chairmen that they were not to follow.

Veronica had been given strict orders to wait on the casino floor. Mint had been convinced all along that Benny would not try to kill her again. In fact, Mint wasn't really convinced he had wanted to kill her in the first place.

They rode in the elevator silently, still holding hands. Benny's body heat against her left side was familiar. Mint felt more herself than she could ever remember, or not remember, something like that. As the floors ticked by his palm became sweaty. She didn't care in the least.

The door to their suite clicked behind them and Mint wasted no time. Her hands left his and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing their lips together. He smelled and tasted clean, free of dust and grime and the Wasteland that spit so many people out again. His hands were at her hips, pulling her closer and taking her slightly off balance.

"That bullet must have made you crazy, pussycat. Helluva way to pay a fink like me back."

Mint could feel the pads of his fingers gripping against her khakis. She felt ready to burst. There were no new memories but her chest felt like it might explode. What had gone wrong that he had shot her? Why was she a courier at all? Between twenty and twenty-one...

"Benny."

"Pussycat..."

She cocked her head to one side, "Why don't you call me by my name? You always called me by my name."

It was Benny's turn to look confused,"I don't know your name, girlie."

Mint's blood ran cold.

"You don't recognize me?"

"Of course I recognize you. Looked you right in the eye before I pulled the trigger. Did it like a man."

Mint stepped back, releasing Benny's shoulders. "No, no, I have memories of you from before. Mint, I'm Mint, you liar." She couldn't stop herself from sounding frantic. He was lying to cover up what he had done. He was lying to conceal the fact he shot his lover, his childhood friend for selfish gain. Liar, liar, liar.

This time he was on her, knocking her backwards onto the couch and pinning her below him. Though they were similar in height, he was much broader and heavier than she was. Panic seized Mint and for the first time she began to fear for her life.

"I'm the liar? Who the fuck do you think you are?" His face was turning red with anger. Mint struggled against his hold on her wrists. Even if she could manage to free her hands, he was still straddling her and had her hips pinned down with his weight.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing fear. "I don't know. Someone conveniently put a bullet through my fucking brain," seethed Mint.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Benny released her and paced back and forth in front of the couch before punctuating his curses with a fist through the drywall. His hand came away scraped and bleeding slightly, not enough to cause concern.

"That's my excuse, what's yours, Benny?"

"Where did you even hear that name?" Benny slumped against the wall until he reached a seated position. He looked completely drained.

"It's my name, isn't it? You told me we'd come here, that we'd be together...that no one would take me away."

The look in Benny's eyes made it appear that he was somewhere very far away. Mint was sure that had been her own default expression since waking up in Goodsprings.

"You're something, Girlie, but you're not Mint."

"You held me, when I was going to attack those men. When I was going to kill them. You calmed me down. I remember. I was going to kill half the Tribe, but you stopped me, said you would fix everything."

"Girlie, this is a sick joke. And I know sick." He smirked, but his eyes were still sad. "After all, I shoot pretty women in the face for personal gain."

Not-Mint stood and walked over to where Benny was sitting against the wall. She lowered herself next to him, still desperate to feel him against her, even if everything was still as wrong as it had been yesterday, the day before, the week...

"It feels the same, when I kiss you now, like it does in my memories." Not-Mint put her own fingers to her lips, mimicking their earlier kiss.

"I fucked you up real bad. That I'm sure of. But I don't know how you think you're a ghost. Well, I suppose I know how you might think you're a ghost. It's just the particular one you've selected." He let out a thin laugh.

She brought her fingers away from her lips and placed her hand over top of Benny's. The size discrepancy between their hands was similar to that in her memory. Similar enough that it fit. "You'll have to prove it to me I'm not her."

Benny's laughter continued. "What, dig up her grave? Parade her around? Girlie, it's been, what, six years since Mint died? I don't have to prove a thing to you."

Benny stood and poured himself a glass of scotch. He poured a second and left it on the table for Not-Mint, but didn't bother to hand it to her. "I don't know what your game is, Girlie. Did Not-at-home put you up to this? Or just your own brand of revenge?" He knocked back the scotch and poured another.

Not-Mint thought about ways to prove her identity. She had been unsure before reaching the Strip if her tribal memories were all there was to her story. Now, here, sharing the same space with the man who was a boy in her dreams, she was sure that those memories were legitimate. They no longer felt distant. Benny's denial only strengthened her resolve.

"You have a scar." Not-Mint passed the table, ignoring her scotch, and cornered Benny against the wall. He backed up, allowing her to corner him, but continued taking slow sips of his drink. He wasn't rushing through this glass.

Not-Mint traced her fingers over the outside of Benny's left leg, just below his hipbone. "It's right here. I gave it to you." She let her fingers dance along in a pattern she had memorized. From the twitch of Benny's lips, she could tell she had it right. "I pushed you into the ground. I was fifteen and you wouldn't kiss me. There was metal shrapnel on the ground. Cut through your shorts and then your flesh. I wouldn't let you up until you admitted you liked me."

Benny handed Not-Mint his now empty glass. "You're not her."

It was an accusation, but still his lips were on hers. The taste of scotch was still in his mouth and she didn't like it. While it was important that Not-Mint convince Benny that she was not lying, the immediate heat of his proximity was more important.

His hands raced for her hips and he pulled her off the ground, supporting her weight easily. Not-Mint still had the empty glass in one hand but used the other arm to wrap around Benny's shoulders. The kiss had broken but they both chose to breathe rather than speak. Not-Mint was afraid of another interrogation.

Only after Benny deposited her on the bed was she able to dispose of the glass, placing it on the bedside table. Benny used that same time to remove his jacket and dress shirt. His chest was softer than she remembered, but still defined and attractive. Fuck was he attractive. Life on the Strip was easier than the Wastes. She didn't need garbled memories to know that. Still, he was fitter and stronger than most men she had encountered since waking, though he was the first she had seen in a state of undress.

Crude tribal tattoos snaked over his sides, permanent identifiers of a life they had deliberately left behind. While he had never said he was ashamed of them, it did seem like he kept them well enough hidden now, his shirt collars coming high enough to cover even the tendrils that approached his neck.

Not-Mint stripped away her own shirt before Benny was on her again. One hand dipped below the waistband of her pants while the other worked at the buttons. He radiated heat. Heat and power and desperation. There was little practiced about his movements, they were a frenzy of a man who had waited without any expectations. He was hungry for her now.

Stripped of their clothes, Not-Mint could not recall feeling so confident. This she knew even without the aid of her pieced together memories. Benny was in her muscle memory, she didn't have to recall anything in particular, it just happened.

Two fingers slid inside her while his thumb worked her clitoris. The circle he made was too tight, as if anticipating someone a bit smaller. His movements were welcome, pleasurable, but imperfect. Hers was a body he didn't yet know, even if she knew his.

Not-Mint resolved to put the discrepancy aside.

Benny shifted down the bed and replaced his thumb with his mouth, still moving in a slightly incorrect pattern. Not-Mint bucked her hips to meet his tongue. One of his hands pushed down on her hip, trying to steady her and she rolled into her orgasm.

He gave her a moment to settle before rolling her to straddle him. Their lips met again and she could taste herself, all traces of the scotch were gone.

Not-Mint repositioned herself and guided Benny's cock into her. He grunted and threw his head back against the pillow, avoiding her eyes. It didn't bother Not-Mint in the slightest.

He allowed her to set her own pace, only rolling his hands across her body. Her chest, her hips, her back. Benny didn't speak, but occasionally now their eyes would catch each other. He looked peaceful. The traces of his frantic initiation were long gone.

Not-Mint couldn't ignore the heat that was all around her, swallowing her. Benny felt like he was burning. Everywhere his hands touched she felt like she would go up in flames.

As he approached his own release, Benny took more definitive control of Not-Mint's movements. One hand on each hip regulated the pace of her thrusts against him and his own hips rose from the mattress to reach hers. His thumb played at her clit again, bringing her off again and causing her to push down onto his cock. Benny panted as he came, a habit of learning one's own body and those of others in close quarters with many suspicious ears. Not-Mint hadn't quite learned that trick.

Not-Mint rolled off of Benny as his cock began to soften inside her. She placed her head against his shoulder and he didn't indicate that he disliked her position, so she stayed.

"Girlie..."

"Mint..."

"I told you," he paused, "you're not her. But you do a hell of an impression."


	5. Nothing too Ambitious

Afterward, they did not sleep.

Not-Mint and Benny lay against each other for a long time in silence. The minutes ticked by as they existed in suspended animation. Covered by a thin sheet, their bodies cooled despite their proximity. The fire that had been just below the surface of Benny's skin had abated. Not-Mint was almost convinced that he was just any other man. However, she couldn't be fooled that easily.

She shifted her weight and rolled on top of him again. Her fingers traced the interlocking patterns of tattoos and scars across his chest. Benny gasped where some of the scars were more sensitive than others. Some wounds would damage nerve endings, others would build up a mass of scar tissue that was caked and rough. But some of the lines across Benny's form were smooth and responsive. Not-Mint lingered on those.

"You wore me out, Girlie. I don't think I can go another round quite yet."

Rather than breaking the spell, Benny's voice strengthened her resolve.

"So I'm really not her, Not-Mint?" Benny's hands had drifted to her hips. He placed one hand on each and held her loosely in place.

Benny's eyes remained closed as he spoke. His voice was even and clear, betraying everything in his attempt to conceal whatever emotions he had failed in eliminating over the preceding years.

"I buried her myself. What was left of her." He didn't expand on the circumstances of her death. Not-Mint didn't push him. "Here."

One hand left its position to fumble around in the nightstand drawer. Benny pulled out a photograph. It was pristine in all ways. The glossiness and vivid color struck Not-Mint as odd. She had seen a few photographs while raiding abandoned structures. Doc Mitchell said he had a working camera, but she hadn't seen it in action. Current photographs were a bit of a rarity. Those with enough technical expertise to fix up cameras generally dedicated their time to other things.

The surroundings of the Tops looked over-saturated compared to the muted colors she had seen downstairs. Everything about the picture looked bright, alive, like the last 200 years had never happened.

In the center of the picture were three figures. Benny stood on the left, a navy blue suit jacket slung over his left arm and his shirt unbuttoned at the top. He had clearly already misplaced his tie. The smile on his face was bright enough to light up the picture all on its own.

On the right was Swank, a cautious smirk on his lips and staring straight at the camera. He was flirting with it, or whoever it was behind it taking the picture. He was still neat in his appearance, tie in place and his hair was perfect in comparison to Benny's ruffled mess. His hands were in his pockets but he was still standing close to the other two.

The center of the picture was her, Mint. The real one. Benny's right arm was slung over her shoulder and her own arm was wrapped around his waist. While the two men were enamored with the camera, she looked half at her lover and half at the apparatus.

Mint's dark hair and light eyes were offset by a purple dress. The purple dress. No one had ever seen a purple dress before. Her caramel skin was a few shades darker than Benny's. It matched Not-Mint's almost exactly. But still the slope of the nose was wrong, Mint's was straight where Not-Mint had a distinctive bump. Mint was more petite next to Benny, at least three inches shorter than Not-Mint. Maybe a little more if she was wearing heels. These were all things that could be explained away. She broke her nose, late growth spurt. But those eyes haunted Not-Mint. They confirmed that she could not be the girl in the picture.

"I don't have blue eyes."

"No, you don't, Girlie."

Not-Mint hadn't changed positions and still straddled Benny, straddled someone else's love. She was a dead woman trying to replace a dead woman.

"Who was she?"

Benny took the photograph from Not-Mint's hands and placed it back in the end table without looking at it. "A witch." He returned his hand to the position on Not-Mint's hip. "But it didn't matter to me."

"A witch?"

Benny nodded. "She could...manipulate things around her."

"She had dust in her blood."

Benny's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Fair enough, he still didn't know who she was. But now Not-Mint didn't know who she was either.

"So you just woke up from that grave I put you in thinking you're her?"

Not-Mint climbed off Benny and lay beside him instead. She wasn't going to leave unless he insisted. Their intimacy still felt more natural than anything she had experienced thus far.

"No, I...I started having dreams. About you. About being children in the Boot Riders." Not-Mint stared at the ceiling above her. It had been painted but it did little to disguise the age of the building. None of these structures had been designed to carry the weight of centuries.

"I remember..." It was distant in her mind, the first memory. She hadn't thought about it in weeks now. Without the additional context she now had, it hadn't made sense at the time. "Swank pulled my hair and I fell over. I was crying and then he was crying too. You yelled at him."

"Mint was seven," Benny began coolly. "She and her mother had just arrived. After Mint fell, Swank was struck by a rock...dropped by a bird. Hit the top of his head and caused a gash. He's got a little bald spot there, even to this day. Covers it up like a professional." Not-Mint could hear the smile creep into Benny's voice.

"Manipulating things around her?"

"Exactly." Benny continued without further prompting. "Bingo was convinced that her mother would be the key to our success. No one would dare face us with two witches. Told us boys to stay away from Mint, that is, when we all got a little older. I was always bad at listening to him. Fought it for awhile, but she wouldn't let me get away with that. She felt it too."

"What other things could she...manipulate?"

"It was mostly stuff with animals. They would follow her, fight for her. Not just birds or dogs or small fry. Yao guai too. That was the really terrifying one. The one that made others want to get rid of her."

"Could she manipulate people? Could she be manipulating me?"

Benny laughed, indicating the question was absurd. "She's dead. Witch or not, she's dead. And no, I never saw her manipulate people, at least not directly. I mean...she had to knock me over all by herself to get me to say anything about how I felt about her. If she could manipulate people like that she could have had me long before."

Not-Mint was no closer than she had started. In fact, she was further away. Mint seemed like a red herring. There was another question.

"You killed me for a chip. Why?"

"You've got other things to worry about, Girlie." Benny seemed to tense at the question. His voice was more terse than when he was denying her the only identity that she considered could be her own.

Not-Mint scrunched up her face, a muscle tick she hadn't expressed until recently. "Everyone's been making it my business. It has to do with House, doesn't it?"

"How do you figure that," Benny drawled.

"Everyone's trying to make it my business. Can't get away from it. Keeps chasing me down and I keep ignoring it. Everyone in this fucking Wasteland wants a favor from me." Not-Mint hadn't realized quite how bitter she was over the requests of others. She was. Others expected her to help them when she was fucking up the task of helping herself.

"Who's everyone?" Benny seemed genuinely concerned.

"Well first there was that bot..."

"A Securitron?"

Not-Mint didn't miss a beat, "yes."

Benny sat up, forcing Not-Mint up as well. Their backs rested against the headboard and Benny reached for a cigarette, already learning not to offer one to Not-Mint.

"Get your Mentats, I know you're an addict." Benny coolly blew smoke in the direction opposite of where Not-Mint was sitting.

She turned at the accusation. "I'm not."

"You are. Your mouth is dry and your pupils were dilated when you first approached me. I'm not judging you. We all have our vices."

Not-Mint got out of bed and retrieved her tin out of her pants pocket, taking two of the pills in her hand. "It's not by choice. Someone shot me in the head. Doesn't do wonders for your memory." She left the bedroom to retrieve a glass of water from the other room. She found the glass and turned back towards the bedroom, heading for the bathroom taps.

Once she knew who she was, she'd give them up. It was the best promise she could make for herself at the moment. Nothing too ambitious.

"You look good like that, Girlie."

Not-Mint was not particularly ashamed of her nakedness. Whatever hold Mint had over her was still in place. Benny was familiar and safe, even though his behavior toward Not-Mint had been anything but. The false memories meant more than the flash of a bullet.

"The chip?"

"Let me worry about that."

Not-Mint just wanted to worry about herself. She dropped the subject.

That being said, Veronica had been sitting alone downstairs for almost an hour at this point. Since she wasn't killing Benny, and Benny wasn't killing her, and neither of them knew quite what was going on, it was probably best that she just leave. With a new goal in mind, Not-Mint picked up her clothes and began to dress.

"Leaving so soon? Gimme a little time and I'll be ready to tumble again." Benny shifted between characters with such fluidity it was a wonder that he knew who he was. Maybe Not-Mint's position wasn't such a strange one.

"Someone else knew my name." She considered how to explain the sensation to Benny. "He called me Callie, said he knew me."

"You're making me jealous already." Benny finished his cigarette.

Callie smiled, "he liked me, but not too much. Anyway, I remember him, faintly. Not like I 'remember' you though. The memories are sequential. Like I was Callie after I was Mint. It's hard to explain" Again, she scrunched her face. Since when did she scrunch her face?

"It's still early yet. We've got time." There was that faint hint of desperation again. Her impression of Mint must have been pretty good.

"I'll come back, I just want to talk to him again. That is, if you'll have me? Fuck this is fucked up."

Benny outright laughed. "It sure is, Girlie. But sure, come by. I'll tell Swank get one of the boys to fix up a room for your friend too."

Callie hadn't mentioned Veronica to him. But, she supposed, you didn't rise in New Vegas if you weren't perceptive.

Now fully dressed, Callie leaned over the bed, bringing her lips against Benny's. The air still sparked between them, even though she was leaving as a different woman than the one who entered.


	6. Overridden; Rewrite

Callie and Veronica did not exchange words as they collected their weapons from the front desk. 10mm. Laser pistol, switchblade, brass knuckles. These were the little things of survival in the Wasteland. Others got by with less. Then there were those who hoarded more. They had seen shacks packed to the top with useless crap, badly damaged assault rifles and mismatched ammunition. Without fail they would find skeletons that were more worthless than the filth they had surrounded themselves with. Objects did not ensure survival. Cunning, backstabbing, ruthlessness, these were the traits that would get them from day to day.

ED-E waited for them outside. It buzzed 'happily' when it saw them. Most of the people on the Strip were giving it a wide berth. Robots were considered either fickle, unpredictable things, or coldly calculating. In either case, they didn't give a shit about human life. No human cared about another human, so why would a bot?

It wasn't until they found themselves in the stale, dry air of the desert that Callie spoke.

"I don't really have any answers." She let her fingers drift over the corners of her laser pistol. The thing was boxy and cumbersome to accommodate the circuitry it required. It was too complicated for its own good.

"Do you at least feel better? I'm guessing 'no' from that expression." V took it upon herself to answer her own question.

Callie didn't want to repeat the experience she had just endured. The highs and lows of the preceding hours were wearing her down. Undoubtedly she was tied to Mint, those memories were 'genuine' if not ones intended for her. They didn't seem like fabrications, since Benny was able to corroborate each and every morsel she shared with him. All of the things she remembered had happened to another woman.

"Mint?"

Callie smiled and shook her head. This situation was ridiculous. She should have repaid the favor to Benny and put a bullet in his brain, er, laser. It would be the logical course of action. But she didn't yet know who was the woman that Benny had shot. All she knew was that woman wasn't Mint.

Still, there would be time for that later. He wasn't going anywhere, the Chairmen had too much tied up in the Strip and another woman's memories told her that Benny was exceedingly loyal to his tribe. Oh, he'd kill half of them to give the other half a better life, but he would never, ever abandon them all for individual gain. His loyalty was her insurance policy.

"We're going to see a man about a girl."

"That's quite the one track mind you've got."

"Can't help it, explosion in the other lanes, carnage everywhere. I've only got one lane left open for traffic."

Her tin of Mentats rattled in her pocket. She'd need more before the evening was through.

/

The two women chatted about things that were unimportant the rest of the way to Old Mormon Fort. Oh, for certain V would press the issue of what happened with Benny later, but it would take a couple more drinks on both their ends before that subject was broached. V didn't really want to know things that she only knew would upset her. Callie knew that Veronica knew she didn't want all the details. It's funny the threads people grasp to even when the whole cloth is on fire.

Julie nodded at the pair (right, right, trio) and gestured to the tent in the back when Callie asked after Arcade. She was busy wrapping a leg wound on an unfortunate Freesider. It was easier, more rewarding work than tending to junkies through the endless cycle of pain, euphoria, and disgust they found themselves trapped in.

Arcade was hunched over a book that had seen better days. The dirty metal chair he sat on looked comically small underneath his oversized frame. Callie just couldn't get over how big he was compared to literally everyone else who wasn't a super mutant. He must have come from a vault. Nothing else would explain that other than proper nutrition well past adolescence. And proper nutrition at any stage of life seemed in short supply.

"You..." Arcade appeared significantly more suspicious of her than yesterday. Perhaps it was beginning to sink in that she was a girl that had disappeared and come back as a woman who couldn't trust herself, so why the fuck would he trust her?

"You...yourself..." Callie could have sworn she was more eloquent than that.

"You're back."

This conversation was getting nowhere fast, or slow, or at all really.

"Who's Callie?"

"A young woman from a vault. Sharp, trusting, little bit on the stupid side when it comes to the Wastes."

"And who's Arcade."

Silence.

Callie felt something like a twitch in the back of her mind. There were words there, but no images, at least not yet. She could speak but not see or imagine. These memories were something different than what she had as Mint. Mint consisted of remnants. Callie was more like a reflex.

"You don't like talking about yourself. You say that you're not interesting because you don't want anyone to get close. It's not just me you don't like too much. It's everyone."

Callie's eyes narrowed. The twitch had become painful. The information she was pulling only felt faintly accessible, like she was ripping it out of herself.

"You're hiding something, Arcade. And I never found it, did I?" She smiled. Arcade's secrecy didn't feel like a betrayal. At the moment, Arcade didn't feel like anything.

Arcade adjusted his glasses at the bridge of his nose. Standing, he towered over Callie and Veronica. Callie noticed his hands clenching and unclenching. While Callie may not have had any particular feelings about Arcade's secret, it was clear he had some hang ups about it.

Callie wrinkled her forehead. This wasn't how she planned on this encounter going.

"Look, I'm trying to figure out who the fuck I am. Throw me a bone here. I look like Callie, right?"

Arcade only nodded. Maybe he didn't trust himself to speak quite yet.

"Do I speak like her? You're a perceptive guy. You must notice one way or another."

This time Arcade managed a few words. "You curse less."

Callie couldn't help but laugh at that. Veronica had scolded her about her tongue with some frequency when they first started traveling together. That could easily be explained away.

Without prompting, Arcade continued. "You use more sentence fragments when you speak than you used to." He was having a hard time entertaining Callie's notion that she was somehow, well, not Callie.

"And my mannerisms?"

"Oh those are dead on." He poked her suddenly in the middle of her forehead, causing her to wrinkle. Damn.

"Listen, Callie. I get that you've been through something...fairly traumatic here. But let's drop this pretense like you're someone else. You're you. I'm sure of it." He pulled on her left earlobe and she went to his hand away with her left hand. He then pulled on the right lobe. She swatted again with her left hand. "You even said you remember me. So I don't see what the problem is."

Arcade sat again and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

The pain in Callie's skull was overwhelming rational thought. What Arcade said should have been simple. Straightforward. Unlike Benny, Arcade knew her. He knew her and was convinced of her identity. Still, the tendrils of Mint were leading her away.

Benny's words were whispered in her ear, even now. They were words he claimed he only said to another woman. They were not meant for the ears attached to this body. The discordance between her body and her mind was splitting her in two.

Whether her companions, Veronica and Arcade, knew what was amiss with her at the moment, Callie-Mint could not tell.

Mint's mind was vaguely aware of Callie's body hitting the ground. Callie's eyes saw bits and pieces of Arcade rushing to lift her onto one of the the rickety, beds. It smelled of distilled liquor and prickly pear fruit.

Mint remembered splitting open fruit as a child and sucking at the juice as it ran down her chin. She could feel the moisture against her flesh.

Veronica was speaking in the distance. She was recounting the episode earlier in the day with the bot, how Callie-Mint had collapsed when she attempted to override the robot.

Callie thought about the first time she had seen a prickly pear plant. Round and spiky and utterly foreign. She poked her syringe into it's flesh but had difficulty extracting enough material. A woman's voice suggested they cut a sample instead.

Veronica took Callie-Mint's hand between both of hers. Arcade returned with another doctor. Not a researcher. Arcade claimed to be no good with patients. Callie knew better than that.

The pain was so intense it began to drown out the sensation of Veronica's fingertips stroking the back of her hand. Arcade's voice became vulgar notes that hung in the air for too long, indecipherable.

Callie thought about a strange man in a checkered coat. He took the bag off her head and looked her in the eye as he pulled the trigger. He told her that it was only bad luck that they had ended up here.

Her mind was that grave on the hill above Goodsprings.


	7. Delusions of Superiority

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original AN: Callie has been screaming at me from the inside of my head. I've got to get through this chapter in the first person; it doesn't work any other way. I realize some people don't go for first-person fic, so I'm mentioning it upfront. 
> 
> (edit 7/6/14 [keep as of 8/5/14], I sort of regret this chapter now, but rewriting it entirely in third person would lose something, so it remains in first person. This chapter can be reasonably skipped without a loss of plot.)

When I get out of this grave I'm going to set the whole Wasteland on fire.

It's time for everyone to get the fuck out of my way. This shit is fucked up.

Arcade says that I had a series of seizures. Other than that, they can't be sure yet. The Followers don't have an autodoc at the Old Mormon Fort. Even if they did, the docs aren't particularly good at diagnosis. They operate off of a best guess type of programming. If your symptoms match up with their encyclopedia, they decide that's the ailment you've got. From there they start cutting and poking and prodding and curing. I've already read their encyclopedia cover to cover. It's stored in this second-hand Pip-boy of mine. What I've got isn't to be found. They'll just cut and rip and tear and break without a hope of putting me back together again.

The first seizure must have been when I overrode the Securitron yesterday morning. That makes more sense than any of the alternatives. I had an ordinary, run of the mill, perfectly human seizure that just happened to have poor timing. The Pip-boy freaking out might have had more to do with the poorly executed bot command that I pieced together from several places. Messy code ends with messy results. I never was much good with precision in a hurry.

And yes, I'm well aware I'm talking to myself and I also know that's fucking weird, okay?

Before you ask, no, I still don't know who the fuck I am.

My toes feel all tingly.

So let's consider the situation so far...I, me, the person I was at one point, who could be any number of people, was a Courier for the Mojave Express. That person, carrying a very sensitive piece of equipment, gets shot in the fucking face by a fuck up who wants to play with toys that don't belong to him, fine. We've all had that urge. Besides, from what I've heard, House is a real cockhead and deserves what's coming to him. More power to you, Benny.

Courier wakes up, after being SHOT IN THE FUCKING FACE, in the home of a kindly old Vault doctor operating in a nuclear wasteland with limited supplies and limited equipment. But the point is, she wakes up, face intact and ready to go.

This all seems really suspicious, doesn't it?

But, moving on, assessing the situation so we can move forward. "I," whoever "I" am, appear to be in great physical condition. I can run, I can jump, I can swim, kinda, and I can hack the shit out of a computer.

Despite the fact I can barely shoot straight I manage to kill most of the outlaws between Goodsprings and the 188. Like my head tells me I'm a shit shot and my hand has another idea entirely and I'm tearing shit up. All the while, I'm having these...visions...about a girl that I think I am. But they're not complete. There's a big gap in those memories, a whole year in fact. That shouldn't be abnormal with a head injury. Head injury is putting it mildly. So the visions don't seem strange at all, at first.

But that little girl is covered in dirt and drawing symbols in the dust. She's learning to fire a rifle (albeit, poorly) and I'm pretty sure I don't even know how to hold something bigger than a laser pistol. And when would a tribal girl learn to hack? Where does she learn to assemble stimpaks?

And why is it that the man in the checkered coat, the man who shot her in the face, is also a boy who is holding her close and whispering in her ear like she's a real prize. But really, she's just a strange little girl who speaks to stray dogs.

Oh and then this is rich. At the 188 there is a fucking Brotherhood of Steel woman just waiting to come along with me. She'll drop everything just to follow me around and hold my hand. In time, she starts sticking her hands other places too. And I don't mind. This "I" that is the chimera post bullet. This "I" that is not an "I" because it has no past and no future. It's a weird in between level where "I" barely function.

But Veronica is pretty and sweet and quirky and everything feels new and fun. Life isn't fun otherwise.

Arcade wants me to stay put in bed, at least for the next 24 hours. I say Arcade, but it probably was another doctor speaking through Arcade. Or maybe another doctor was speaking to me second hand about something Arcade said. Fuck if I know. Everything has been blurring together for so long now.

They took away my tin. I'll start seeing withdrawal symptoms soon. I'll have that to add on top of my every growing list of problems. The Followers can't spare the Fixer. They need it for the Freesiders who are just the fucking image of perfectly fucked society.

I'm worth a thousand of them and they can't accommodate my vices.

I'm starting to think I was fucked in the head even before I died.

Veronica is visiting me. She must have come while I was asleep. I don't remember falling asleep, only waking to a blurred world. I could have sworn I saw my mother behind her. But I don't know what my mother looks like. I can't remember a single fucking detail, not what color her hair was, or her eyes or skin. I can't remember if she sang to me as a child and brushed my hair or was drunk and threw bottles at me to get me to shut the fuck up. There is an empty void where she should be and I nearly suffocate and Veronica holds my hand between two of hers and stares at me with rapt attention.

It's almost like she cares about me.

I've long suspected she's a spy. She's watching me, getting close to me, following my movements and me behaviors. I'm a specimen to be carefully tracked and monitored. There is a notebook in her pack with precise lines of writing. She'll be very talkative, inquisitive, then silent for hours. I never see her write in the notebook, but I do see her shuffle it around in her pack, making sure it's always there.

As far as Arcade, I'm still unsure. The Followers and Brotherhood would not be working together. Still, I'm suspicious. He looks at me with sad eyes and he passes, like he knows something I do not. He knows a ton of fucking shit I don't. He acts like he knows me but can't stand the state I'm in.

I can't take his pity.

Still, pity is perhaps better than this sick charade that Veronica carries on. She's kissed me and called me pretty and wound her fingers between mine. Now she's sitting here next to me with all the concern of a long-term partner and not a half-stranger that I've come to depend on out of necessity. If I were stronger, if I was less fucked up, I wouldn't need her.

But I'm awake now and staring at the canopy of the tent that is protecting us from the harsh sun. One of my possibilities is that I didn't see the sun until I was eighteen. Could I dare to dream of something so wonderful to have not been born into this filth and waste?

"Veronica..."

Even though I don't trust her, she's all I have. That may be why I can't afford to trust her. If people really were as good as she pretends to be, the world would have never gone to absolute shit. It hasn't been so long, you know? Since the planet was green and fertile and we weren't all tearing at scraps. Two hundred years really isn't all that long, only just long enough for us to lose a bit of our humanity, but not enough for us not to care.

"M-" She corrects herself, "Callie?"

My head feels so heavy when I try to nod. I'm not sure how long it's been. Only a moment ago I could have sworn it was only a day since I saw Benny, since I fucked the man who fucked me. Now I'm not sure how far time has elapsed. I told him that I would see him again. Maybe I lied.

"What happened?" It's as good a place to start as any.

Veronica bites her bottom lip before she answers. It's a gesture so adorable and disarming that I'm almost certain it's practiced and planned. She's like a robot built to destroy me I swear to fucking god. She's custom built to make me not suspect a thing, and that's what makes her most suspicious.

"You've been having seizures."

Seizures, plural, over a span of time. I don't want to know how long.

I wonder if Benny expected me to come back, if he has thought of me at all in the intervening time.

"How many?" My voice is hoarse, I haven't used it in awhile.

To that she shakes her head. She doesn't know or the number is too high to be safe. Like, the number is brain-dead high. I've been brain dead once, at least, I can come out the other side of this.

Oh, it's very strange. I'm afraid of dying. I'm not sure I've felt this sensation before, at least not as the current incarnation of 'me.' Really and truly I'm afraid of dying before I kill every fucker that has wronged me.

"How many?" This time, my voice sounds a bit more confident, assertive.

She won't look at me now. "Arcade doesn't know. They can't always tell." Her voice is just loud enough for me to make out what she's saying.

The sheets on the bed are a faint off-white color. If I pretend hard enough I can make myself believe they were this color all along. There is only the thinnest sheet draped over me, like they're preparing to bury me any hour now. They can just wrap me up in it and toss me in with the other corpses.

Someone must have the job to dispose of the dead here. Probably some lackey with more muscles than brains and a kind smile. The dumb ones are always kind. That must be why I'm so much of an asshole.

Under the barrier of the sheet I can still wiggle my toes. There doesn't appear to be any nerve damage in that sense. Every single one of them moves just as they did before. I'd test my fingers too but V still is holding my good hand with the rotten pinky that didn't work anyway. It would only bend halfway over and then just stop. Still was my good hand though, stronger and steadier and first to react. The left one.

"I want to get up."

Surprisingly, Veronica helps me up into a sitting position, my legs coming to rest on the ground beneath me. There's no floor covering so the dust gets in between my toes. The ground is cool even though the ambient air temperature is quite high. It must be close to midday, if not a bit after.

It's not until I go to stand that she stops me. I should have known better than to push my luck and now she's clucking over me like a mother hen. Suppose she can keep just as good an eye on me to take notes when I'm bedridden. Maybe this is even better for her.

Even just from sitting I know I could stand. I could stand and run and jump and swim. Nothing feels particularly wrong with me other than a dull ache all over. It's just as likely the ache is from the Mentats withdrawal. Until I have to do something that requires my brain and all, I won't know how much my abilities have been reduced without them.

It's so fucking obvious. I'll just sneak out tonight.

Not a single doctor has been in to see me since I woke up, no one is bothering to count the frequency or duration of my seizures. They don't give a fuck about me. As far as they are fucking concerned I'm already six feet under. If Veronica is keeping notes on me (she is), she'll have to leave at some point to write them down. I doubt she's dumb enough to write in front of me, even if she thinks I'm asleep. So that's it, tonight I'll just stroll out of here through the front door and no one will even fucking miss me.

There's never been anyone to miss me.

Benny misses Mint, desperately. I could feel it in every touch he gave me. Every pulse whispered to me, "you're not her." It was some romantic bullshit like that. A cheap imitation is all I could ever hope to be. He misses her so desperately now that he's reminded of her. In time he'll forget. In all likelihood he's forgotten me already and soon enough he won't be forced to think about Mint anymore. She'll retreat to the back of his mind behind more recent, meaningless fucks that fulfill him in ways a dead girl's ghost never could

Arcade misses Callie, quietly. When he spoke to me and told me he was sure I'm her, there was that quiet sadness that accompanies the memory of a lost friend. She's someone who he has lost and would like to have back, but it's no trouble, really, if she never comes back. He doesn't make friends easily and she wasn't around long enough to get really attached. He liked her though, not too much, but enough that when she disappeared he must have worried. Still, she had tits and a vagina and wasn't much use to him in the way people use each other.

Veronica couldn't miss anyone. She's got a notebook full of me. Maybe carefully drawn diagrams as well. She couldn't miss me any more than you miss an insect in a display box, its delicate wings pinned to the soft cushion of its coffin.


	8. Courier Six

Courier Six remained very quiet for the better part of forty-five minutes. As time moved forward she concentrated on her breathing, slowing it to a steady pace that would not raise suspicion. That alone should have been suspicious as she had spent the better part of three days violently vacillating between consciousness and hyper-consciousness. Her brain was turning against her, rejecting its unwilling host.

Her initial plan was to escape the confines of the Old Mormon Fort during her second night of illness. As the hour approached, she was wracked with a series of convulsions that left her a drooling, shaking mess. Her death would not be particularly flattering; she would not be a beautiful corpse. This was something she had already come to terms with in the fever of her illness.

On the third night, she was well. It had been six hours since her last fit, best she could trust her calculations. Courier Six did not particularly trust anymore.

The controlled breathing paid off and Veronica left the courier for the night, heading off to an adjacent tent, no doubt furiously scribbling down today's observations. She was more convinced than ever that Veronica was observing her, recording her progress or lack there of for later analysis.

The packed dust was hard against the balls of her feet as she ran. There had been no shoes left behind in the tent, no supplies of any kind. It was just her, a thin cotton tank and boxer shorts. It was if they knew she would try and run. No, not "they," her, Veronica. The Followers had not invested so much in her care.

The Followers doctors didn't give a shit about her or her recovery. To them she was a body occupying a bed that could be assigned to a run of the mill junkie that they had long ago grown fond of. No one was fond of her, except maybe Arcade. Arcade who didn't like her too much and kept his own secrets.

She didn't have any secrets to keep. She had half-imagined histories and a splattering of recent events.

Just short of the gate to Freeside, she doubled over. Luckily, her vision held steady as she wretched a thin, murky liquid up from her stomach. Not a seizure then, maybe simple nerves?

The two Kings on the corner didn't pay her any mind. Such a sight was far from unusual be it daylight or murky darkness, it was all the same to them.

She retched and retched until tears streamed down her face, until the clearish fluid turned pink with blood. The muck dribbled and spread until it came in contact with her hands that she used to steady herself against the busted concrete sidewalk.

Once her stomach was empty (even more so than it had been before) she pushed herself back into a sitting position.

Where the fuck was she going? She had no armor, no weapon, no fucking shoes. Probably could scav the first two, but shoes seemed to be in short supply. They hadn't come across many suitable pairs in the first place.

The courier sat with her back pressed against a crumbling, unoccupied building. It was a similar scene to the one days ago, when the seizures started. She glanced at her wrist, forgetting, again, that she didn't have the Pip-boy. It had been removed at some point during her illness, but it had been fried beyond use before that, coinciding with her first attack.

Without shoes, the lack of the device seemed really fucking trivial. Her arm felt too light without it. Strange, she only had it on for a few weeks, but she relied on it as if she had always had it.

Maybe she did, she thought bitterly.

Stomach settled, she managed to stand. The ground would get hot during the day and syringes, vomit and excrement were always just a few steps away, at least until the animals got to it. She needed shoes.

As much as she hated backtracking, she retreated to the King's School of Impersonation. It didn't take a genius (mental patient) to recognize that the King's boys wore a uniform. No doubt they were stacked in some auxiliary room. Some unprotected, auxiliary room. Besides, who the fuck would steal threadbare blue jeans and dingy t-shirts.

This girl would, she thought.

The front door was open, as always. Locks in the Wasteland were pathetic. A thin, ragged looking member was asleep in a chair in the corner, a half-finished cigarette between his lips. It had already burned itself out with the lack of puffing.

She didn't bother to sneak. Sneaking was suspicious and she sucked at it anyway. Instead she marched to the stairwell, down the hall, and started opening doors like she belonged there.

First door: Sleeping Kings on naked mattresses. One stirred, gave her a sleepy acknowledgment and then landed face first back in the mattress.

Door number two: Basically empty, baseball bat in the corner. She would come back for that. Weapon problem solved, but so not worth it without any shoes. Before objective one could be accomplished, she didn't want to look like a threat. The bat would make her appear hostile.

Door number three: Jackpot. Piles of clothes littered a large center table with several more stacks on the floor. She set to work opening cabinets and found one with shoes. Glorious, glorious shoes. Most were far too large for her and they were all men's pairs.

It's a wonder you can stand, all that height and those tiny little feet. It's a wonder you don't topple over.

The voice spoke to her from a place more distant than a memory. She was reminded of that photograph, Benny and Swank and tiny little Mint with her bright blue eyes.

She almost started retching again. Tiny little Mint with her bright eyes and someone who loved her. Choking down the sensation, she rifled through more pairs of shoes until she finally found a beaten pair small enough that they could be padded out with thick socks.

Next, she attacked the clothes. Finding jeans and a mostly clean shirt was a much easier task than acquiring shoes. She didn't bother with the too-distinctive jacket. Even though she didn't yet have a chance to wash her mouth and hands, just being out of her old clothes made her feel like she reeked less of sickness and seizures and...death.

She wasn't ignorant or stupid. She was dying. That was okay.

Freshly dressed, she looked for a bathroom next. Two empty rooms, one with a safe that she considered cracking, if she found the right tools. Then the bathroom. She scrubbed her hands and then her face until both turned pinkish. She rinsed her mouth four times before choking down some water.

She sort of resembled a human being. Her darker skin kept her pallor from being entirely obvious. She should tell though, familiar with her body, if nothing else. After making sure her ponytail was properly in place, she exited the bathroom and headed back for the bat.

There were a few other drawers in the room that she scoured. A couple of lockpicks, but no screwdriver, so the safe was off the table, a lighter, that she pocketed, and cigarettes, that she didn't, were the only notable items.

She swirled the baseball bat around like a twirling baton, like those fresh-faced girls in the holotape, before exiting the room.

In the lobby, the scrawny guard was still asleep. She prodded him gently, with her hand, not the bat, to wake him.

He woke with a start, the cigarette dropping from between his lips and into his lap. The courier offered him a light with her freshly stolen lighter. He accepted, fishing the cigarette out from between his legs.

Callie muttered, "no problem," before heading out the door.

Luckily, dawn was still a long way off. This time, Callie made it through the Freeside gates with confidence, twirling her bat the whole way. There was still no plan, really other than get to Goodsprings and the good doctor. Everyone else could wait until she was good and ready to deal with their bullshit. Besides, Benny had been pretty adamant that her help was not needed with the whole Chip situation. He had it under control.

There was a tight feeling in her chest. Not the nausea from earlier, this was higher up towards her ribcage. Sweet, beautiful, tiny, loved Mint who could talk to animals, make them tear your throat clean out, but couldn't handle a rifle. Her mother thought was too good for it, too.

Callie wasn't Mint, only she had a few too many of the girl's memories clanking about in her skull. She was a girl, wasn't she? Mint never really lived into adulthood like Callie was fast approaching, had already approached.

A violent, insane thought occurred to Callie. There was a shack up ahead, one she was fairly sure she and Veronica hadn't hit on their way into New Vegas. The door was unlocked (doors always were unlocked, and the locks were shit). Callie found half a dozen e-cells but someone had already lifted the pistol, if there had ever been on one.

She proceeded to turn the place upside down for anything of value. Maybe she should have taken the cigarettes earlier. Her rewards amounted to 52 caps, a busted 10mm, two dozen rounds for it, and a few of those magazines Wastelanders were so fond of.

Eve though it would require her to backtrack, yet again, Callie reversed directions and took up a light jog. Only took her thirty or so minutes to reach Gun Runners. She traded in the 10mm, rounds, and magazines. Together with the loose caps she purchased a shitty laser pistol and another ten rounds. Twelve caps left over, too.

She didn't both thanking the bot. Robots had no fucks to give.

Taking up the road again, she looked out for an opportunity to present itself. The shack was passed before the perfect scenario materialized.

A number of birds stood on the road, clucking together over some abandoned provisions. Callie had picked up a smooth, attractive stone sometime earlier. Pulling it from her back pocket with her right hand, she gripped the laser pistol in her left. She tossed the stone toward the clutch of birds, sending them into the air out of self-preservation.

Taking aim, busted pinky and all, Callie shot one of them clear out of the sky, its wing disintegrating mid-flight. It probably broke its neck on the way down.

"Oh fuck me." Callie held her head, even though it didn't hurt.


	9. Paternalistic and folksy

Tirelessly, Callie traveled through the heat of the day well into the night. She stopped once, in the intense heat of midday, taking shelter in an abandoned Poseidon station. She downed a hot bottle of dirty water she found in one of the broken display fridges among bloated canisters of spoiled milk. For an hour she sat in the quiet half-darkness. Sunlight filtered through the grime-caked windows. Still, she missed the mechanical glow of the Pip-boy. If nothing else, it warded off boredom.

Arcade, turning the dials of the other Pip-boy, her Pip-boy, the one she got back in her vault. That Pip-boy she filled with holotapes starring fresh-faced girls. Always girls. They smiled brightly and would wink at the spectator coyly. Sometimes they played with batons and sometimes they played with each other.

Later, her Pip-boy was filled with electronics texts and lines of raw code that she never bothered to compile. One page was the code she was certain would let her override the vault doors. The overseer should have known better than let her take her GOAT appointed position as robotics engineer.

In the gas station she went to fix her ponytail, pulling loose curls back into position. When she threaded the stack of hair through the flimsy band the elastic snapped. She didn't have an extra and was forced to endure her hair sticking to her sweat dampened face and neck the rest of the journey.

When Callie arrived in Goodsprings, a nameless resident waved at her in recognition. Her first few days after waking were too much of a blur for her to remember all the names entrusted to her. Casually, she waved back to the man enjoying his last cigarette of the night.

The Doc's door was open. Always open. Locks were pointless.

Given the hour, Callie was confident that Mitchell was asleep in the back room. She began sorting documents, notepads, clipboards, anything with a scratch of writing. Most were clearly too old to have anything to do with her. Some were written in such scribbles she'd never be able to decipher what they said. As long as she kept the noise to a minimum, Mitchell's sleep would remain undisturbed until she had evidence of what was done to her.

There was a small stack of letters, bundled together with a rubber band. She took the band off, using it to tie her hair back and get it out of her face.

One by one she slid sheets of paper out of already open envelopes. The last three were and undated correspondence with a "Henry."

Henry was looking for a human specimen, female, preferably, but male would do in a pinch, no older than thirty, but not younger than fifteen. Callie re-read the letter from the beginning. Female specimen, race unimportant. Had to be strong enough to survive the planned surgery, not just any mangy dog looking for easy caps.

Mitchell's side of the exchange was predictably missing. His letters were no doubt with this "Henry." Undaunted, Callie moved on to the next letter with the same precise handwriting.

Henry had waited quite awhile already, so there was no rush. Suitability was more important than the time frame. It wasn't critical research in any case, just an opportunity that presented itself. From Jacobstown, Henry didn't believe he would come by any suitable subjects. And yes, Mitchell was quite right, damage to the brain was acceptable, within limits. Other internal organs were more important, just as they had discussed in person.

So there was more to this exchange than just missing one half of the letters.

Final letter, each word scrawled in haste, carefully formed characters forgone: "I'm coming – Henry"

There was writing on the other side of this letter. Mitchell's scrawl, cleaned up just enough to be legible to other human beings" "Female, 20-24, 5'10" 155lbs, stable condition. Gunshot wound to frontal lobe. Developed musculature, former vault resident (has Pip-boy)."

Her, her, unmistakably her.

Callie welcome the seizure that gripped her. It was a newly developed stability in her life. It was stability greater than her own thoughts could offer her at the moment. Her head hit the corner of the desk as she collapsed, splitting the skin on her forehead.

As abruptly as it had overtaken her, the convulsions appeared to be short lived. It was just her luck that her brain had been somewhat cooperative since she got the fuck out of Freeside. Perhaps Veronica had been slipping her...something, to produce the desired effect. Veronica, who held her water bottle and encouraged small sips with regularity. Veronica with her constant vigilance.

Blood wept from the head wound, flowing in bright rivulets down Callie's face. It took quite the effort for Callie to pull herself up by gripping the same desk that had offended her so viciously. Even though the seizure had passed, she was absolutely drained from the ordeal. Her limbs felt weak and too tightly strung at the same time. They only just barely obeyed Callie's commands.

Bandages and antiseptic were within arm's research. How convenient of her to have a fit in a doctor's home. She took a roll of gauze with her and dragged her way into the bathroom. Goodspring's water ran crystal clear and lukewarm in the taps. Callie cleaned the wound with a few splashes of water, forgoing the antiseptic. Knowing her luck it was laced with poison or some shit. Once she was satisfied that she was clotting, she forgot the bandages as well and scrubbed her face clean. The wound was still angry and red, but she knew that it would heal without too much trouble. If nothing else, she knew her body.

Telling herself to breathe, Callie felt another seizure tickle at the front of her skull, threatening to overwhelm her. Not again. This time she dropped to the tile floor on her own to avoid the fee-fall that came from an attack. The titles were warm against her cheek and the floor smelled of dust and cleaning solution, sharp and synthetic.

They used to clean the vault with this same shit.

Penny, with her pretty smile and blonde hair. Penny who was so dumb that the GOAT hadn't even placed her in janitorial work, she had been reassigned after her parents pleaded with the overseer for a less cruel fate for their pretty daughter.

Penny would scrub the offices from top to bottom with the sharp, synthetic cleaner, smiling the whole time. Callie would smile back, grease on her fingertips as she worked on the interior of the various bots under her care. There was a Mister Handy. Overseer wanted the Mister Gutsy saw attachment installed, manual fix, not the programming that Callie preferred. But bots were easy and people were hard. Still, Callie was distracted by Penny and her pretty smile and the way she filled out her vault suit. Penny pushed her away, laughing and calling Callie a silly goose, her green eyes sparkling.

Fuck Penny and fuck the vault.

Seizure and visions passing in turn. Callie made another effort to stand. A pool of sticky bile had formed where her head came to rest. Some of it dribbled down her shirt. Undoubtedly it was in her hair as well. It was a yellowish color this time, thicker as well. Callie washed her face, again, readjusted her hair, which was luckily dry. The shirt would have to wait. The door to Mitchell's bedroom was wide open, moonlight filtering in and meeting light from the hallway, which he had left on. Even though power wasn't limitless, Mitchell left most of his lights on 24/7. Callie remembered from the handful of days she spent in Goodsprings after waking up, wearing thin everyone's hospitality.

The vault was always lit. But Callie didn't have a problem with darkness, didn't bother her in the slightest.

One last check that her head felt clear and she crossed the threshold into Mitchell's bedroom. Callie pounced onto the sleeping man, pinning his arms against his sides with her legs and using one hand to cover his mouth and keep him from screaming.

"You're okay, you're okay." She cooed at his ear, but the platitudes were also for herself. "I've got questions, okay? Nod if that's okay."

Mitchell was effectively pinned. He was old and Callie had maybe ten or fifteen pounds on him. Still, he managed as stiff nod.

"I'm going to move my hand, okay? And then we are going to have a nice, civil conversation like adults. Okay?"

Another nod of acknowledgment followed.

True to her word, Callie moved her hand but kept her weight centered on Mitchell's chest. She needed the upper hand. She was sick and tired of expecting the best of people and getting fucked for it. There was no reason for Mitchell to help her now just like there was no reason for Mitchell to help her with her little brain problem.

"Who is Henry?"

"A doctor."

"More specific," Callie gritted her teeth.

"Specialist in neurosurgery, neurobiology...Mint, what's wrong?"

Some fucking disarming shit, that voice of his, paternalistic and folksy. She wouldn't be tricked again.

"Don't fucking call me that. That's not who I am and you know it." She shifted on top of him, tightening her thighs and keeping his arms locked in place. "What did you two do to me?"

"We saved your life. What's wrong?"

"Bullshit. You were looking for a specimen. I'm your specimen, aren't I?"

Information flowed out of the doctor's mouth in a calm, practiced manner. Not the kind of practice that came with lies but one that made it clear that he had practiced his statement for posterity.

"A number of years ago, Doctor Henry came into possession of brain matter with highly unusual properties. He wished to transplant this tissue into a living host in the hopes of recovering the enhanced abilities present in the prior subject. I'm not the brain surgeon here, so I can't be more specific about the procedure itself. But you were missing a bit of brain and he had a bit of brain to spare. And well, you woke up, didn't you, miss?"

Was this really so bad? Playing God in such a way, scrambling a girl's brain just to see what happened, a girl who was already thoroughly beaten? Just for the fuck of it? Much worse atrocities had been committed than some scientific curiosity. This was harmless in the long line of sins of men. But the other sins of men were not in her fucking skull.

So Callie couldn't think all these things with clarity and rationality. She couldn't step back and assess the situation. Because of them she was alive, a bit touched in the head, and dying in spectacular fashion, but alive all the same. They had bought her weeks. They were weeks where she helped ghouls with their dream of going into space and defended a defenseless town, she eliminated packs of raiders. She had met Veronica and almost loved her. Benny almost believed she was a woman he had loved, if only he could pretend a little better. All of these things, Mitchell and Henry had given her. But Callie-Mint didn't think of any of these, couldn't think of any of these.

The rejection took over again, rejection that she now half-understood as the pieces of her brain fighting against one another. Before she was lost again, before she could be vulnerable again in front of her own personal Frankenstein, she placed her hands on either side of his face, twisting and snapping his neck, watching him die before collapsing herself.

/

She woke the next morning on top of the stiffened, dead body of Doctor Mitchell. No bile this time, only the murder below her. Stripping from her clothes, she made her way back to the bathroom. The water ran over her aching body and she scrubbed herself until she felt utterly raw. In the mirror she was happy with the dark scab that had formed over her cut. There was some bruising, but it wasn't particularly noticeable.

Casually, she walked naked back to the bedroom and began going through Mitchell's clothing, looking for something to wear. It wasn't difficult to ignore the corpse in the bed, she didn't feel anything really in regards to it.

The only women's clothes were dresses, so she had to make due with the doctor's clothes. She pulled on a button down dress shirt, leaving the top few buttons open. The shirt fit fine. The pants were too tight at the hips so instead of buttoning them, she folded the waistband until they perched semi-securely on her hips. Satisfied that they wouldn't fall down, she searched the house for two things she felt sure to find: Mentats and her Pip-boy.

Four tins materialized from first-aid kits and various drawers. The Pip-boy proved elusive. In her frustration she pulled a shelving unit down, causing a crash that was sure to be heard from the outside. She had to calm the fuck down or she would never find it. Instead of driving herself nuts, she'd go see Trudy, make small talk like she hadn't just broken the neck of the friendly town doctor and have something to eat. After, she'd come back and find her Pip-boy. Plan settled on, she stepped into the morning air.

A man in a gray suit was waiting outside. Fear froze Callie in her tracks, someone to see the doctor? She'd be fucked. She'd have to follow him inside, kill him too. This was getting out of control.

"You're a difficult woman to pin down, Courier Six." His voice was something unusual, seductive and grating at the same time. She wanted to punch him in the teeth. Mangled teeth of the Wastes, not like her privileged ones. "A message from Mighty Caesar, for an unworthy profligate. He has possession of your...friend." He sneered the final word.

"I don't have any friends," she wan noncommittal in her assertion.

"And the Platinum Chip."

A sensation, almost like her seizures, but not quite. She may not have had any friends, but she almost had _Benny_.


	10. One of them got Him

There was no time left to clear what remained of Callie's mind. Too stunned to respond to Caesar's messenger, she turned on her heels and bolted herself into Mitchell's house. For good measure she propped a chair against the handle to blockade herself inside. Locks were shit.

Her Pip-boy, she needed it. This wasn't misplaced affection, or uncontrolled lust, or a sense of duty. None of those things compelled Callie to put Benny ahead of her own revenge plot. When she decided to fuck everyone else's problems right off, Benny, by all measures, should have been included. He should have been included with Veronica and Arcade, House and Julie, and the King and all those Wasteland fucks who would only lift a finger for her if she gave four times as much in return. But no, Benny wasn't included in that list.

Benny hadn't asked her for a thing. He took. He took more than all the other fucks ever asked of her. He took what he needed and left her behind to die. He took the sex she offered and enjoyed himself thoroughly. He took the Chip and set off on his own, not asking her to come along for the ride, to provide backup or keep him company.

And then he offered. He offered her a place at the Tops. Offered her another tumble, once he was able to take her again. He offered a trump card against House. Benny took and he offered, but he didn't ask. He was too proud for that shit.

This time she searched the house with no regard for Mitchell's personal property. Shelving units were toppled and crates torn open. The thought crossed Callie's mind that another "specimen" had already been sent on his merry way with her Pip-boy strapped to his wrist.

Without a Pip-boy she didn't have a chance of recovering Benny. Her shot was good, but she needed those augmentations.

Caesar had requested her personally. That strange messenger pressed Caesar's "mark" into her palm, ensuring safe passage through Cottonwood Cove and onto Fortification Hill, but she would likely still be watched very closely. The Legion was more suited for close combat than she was. Would they know that? It was impossible to know how long they had been following her. That scout may have been at her back (or ahead of her) this whole time, since she took that courier job.

A couple more tins of Mentats turned up and Callie didn't hesitate in indulging herself. She'd be dead soon enough in any case. If she was so sure about her own demise, why was she fighting so hard to save Benny? Mint? Was it Mint making her do this? Urging her on? There wasn't enough information yet to piece together all the specifics of the shared real estate in her skull. However, it was clear enough that part of Mint's brain was in her head.

Benny's words echoed in her head, "I buried her myself." That wasn't a lie, Callie was certain. Her white hot suspicion of Veronica and her doubts concerning Arcade hadn't yet tainted her perception of Benny. Benny was evil and truthful, Veronica was good and a liar, Arcade was a wildcard with his secrets and deflection and hard-won smiles.

She found it, her Pip-boy, in a crate nailed closed under the bed that held Mitchell's lifeless body. In prying open the box she sliced two of her fingers. The blood slowed her process of strapping her Pip-boy to her right wrist. Callie stood and washed her hands while it calibrated. The weight on her wrist was comfortable, it was right.

Despite her instinct to bolt right the fuck out of the house, she made sure to check her stats first. She was rested, hydrated, and only the slightest bit hungry. She could make it to Cottonwood Cove a little after dark now that she had the Pip-boy, which reduced travel time by about a third.

With her last Pip-boy, the one given freely by the man who kept her from dying and she had killed with her own hands, she hadn't bothered activating the HUD. It didn't occur to the girl with the Tribal memories that such a thing would be useful. Callie, tenuously in control of herself, flicked through the menus until the HUD was activated and turned to the correct contrast for the bright Mojave day.

There was a tic visible on the HUD outside the door, not hostile. Could be a Goodsprings settler waiting for the doctor or it could be the legion scout. The Pip-boys were never as sophisticated as Callie would have liked. They were a brute force sort of instrument. Amazing, but not particularly refined. Still, it would be invaluable to her survival these next twenty-four hours.

Benny, Benny, Benny, it was a repetition in her head when there was nothing else for her to focus on. Benny would need a weapon if she should get it to him. Ideally, it would be the two of them fighting their way out of the Hill instead of her alone against the whole fucking Legion. Weapon, weapon weapon. What weapon? He shot her with a conventional handgun, 9mm. But that didn't mean much, just because she liked beating radscorpions with a baseball bad didn't mean she was any fucking good at it.

Mint, she needed Mint's expertise to know. She would know just what to bring for Benny.

Callie had to laugh at herself at the absurdity of the situation, as if Mint was just some acquaintance who came into her life, a half-realized friend she could invite to her home and laugh over drinks. As if Mint would even like her. As if she wasn't Mint, or at least, the last few remnants of a girl who was loved and feared in equal measure.

It was a flash in her brain, a half-seizure, half-memory, when she saw the brass knuckles at the bottom of the crate that she pulled the Pip-boy from. That was probably as close as she would get to a sign.

That was it, that was all she could manage before removing the propped chair, unlocking the door and stepping out into the Wasteland. Just as she had brushed off House's robot between Goodsprings and the Strip, she stalked past Caesar's lapdog without acknowledging him or looking back.

/

She was warned the boat ride from Cottonwood Cove to the Fort would be long and uninteresting. It gave her time to reflect on the fucking penned slaves and battered women haunting the doorways of the Cove. Her knowledge of the Legion was somewhat limited, they were Tribals, pretending not to be Tribals, just like all the Strip families.

Callie thoughts on the issue were somewhat mixed. She felt undoubtedly stronger, sharper, more powerful, now that she thought herself from the Vault, rather than a Boot Rider. It was why she was stronger, fitter, more perceptive. Once she had let go of the pretense of being Mint and started suppressing the stolen parts of her, her vision was better. Objects in the distance had become clearer. The physical and psychological limitations of Mint's former body had been holding Callie back.

Still, Callie couldn't render a single person in her legitimate memories who had loved her. There was no mother, even spoken about in derogatory whispers. There was no father, even a self-serving adoptive one. There were no friends or lovers or sour old women who gave enough of a damn to try and teach her how to shoot. There was the Overseer, suspicious and cold toward her. There was sweet Penny who rejected her even in simple friendship because her parents told her the engineer was queer, odd, unwanted. There were other women, passing through her on the way to their Overseer-appointed husbands. Never a husband for Callie, though. It wasn't worth wasting a fertile man on her. Better to assign them to other, more receptive women.

Callie didn't mean to fall asleep on the boat.

The hill up to the Fort was steep. Night had passed during the trip into the breaking of day. It honestly shocked her that Caesar's lapdog was waiting to greet her. Even with her reduced travel time he had beaten her to the Fort by a significant margin. He was good, she'd have to give him that, and a straight razor right to the gut.

At the bottom of the Hill she was ordered to hand over any drugs she was carrying. She mumbled something about a condition, but the Legionnaire wasn't buying what she was selling. Fuck, she should have been fucking snorting Mentats on board the boat if she knew this was going to happen. The lapdog smirked as she handed over her Mentat stash. He fucking knew.

The lapdog accompanied her in silence as they wound their way up Fortification Hill. Children, all boys in perfect replica armor of their elders ran up and down the hill with the boundless energy of youth. They threw real spears at imaginary targets. If she hadn't already been desensitized by Cottonwood Cove, she may have found the scene disturbing. Little boys, delivered by slaves, training to become monsters and captors. Callie resolved to kill the little boys, if the opportunity arose. It seemed humane.

Her escort remained resolutely at her side and blissfully silent throughout the ordeal. Upon reaching Caesar's tent, the guard outside demanded she hand over her weapons. There was no chance of concealing the bulky laser pistol at her hip. Both the lapdog and the guard sneered at her weapon choice. She made no mention of the straight razor in her sock or the brass knuckles hidden in her underwear, concealed by the already awkward fit of her stolen pants.

"That too," the guard gestured at her Pip-boy. Like fuck 'that too.'

"It doesn't come off." Might as well use the long-perpetuated lie to her advantage. After they left the vault, on those initial scouting missions, there were those who chose to die rather than remove their Pip-boy. Or maybe they believed the Overseer's threats.

"I've seen you without it." The lapdog spoke at her side, too close and too warm for her comfort. She'd kill him first.

"If you're that observant, you know this isn't the one I had before." She didn't bother to turn her head. His silence was enough to confirm that he did know this. Maybe he had been following her since before she had been shot? Maybe Benny hadn't been the only one tracking her? It seemed likely. "This is mine, the one from my vault. Forever and ever from the day I turned ten until I die. It came off once, because I was dead," she dragged out the last syllable. "So you've got two options," Callie struggled to keep her tone light, teasing almost. "Either you cut my arm off or let me in as is. And my guess if if you wanted me to come here of my own volition, Caesar wants me intact." She couldn't help but grit her teeth at the end.

The lapdog must have given some sort of assent to the guard. There was no further search of her person. The exchange about the Pip-boy had either spooked them or they were sort of idiots. Didn't fucking matter that much in the end, she kept her meager concealed weapons.

Until this point she was proud of her ability to remain outwardly indifferent about her surroundings. It was maybe that part of her that was Mint that let her be careless as her gaze fixed on Benny too long. Tied and on his knees, Callie felt the pangs of sympathy and memory in turn. Herself, in that position, Benny and the Khans looming over her. Not his own Tribesmen. They were civilized now and he wouldn't dream of dragging them back down into his plans.

There was that smooth, sneering voice of the lapdog in her ear again, his breath hot against the side of her face. "You two deserve each other."

This only strengthened her resolve to appear cool and aloof. She said nothing, lest she give more away.

The lapdog took his clearly appointed position beside Caesar. That fucking 'I know you but you don't know me' smirk on his face the whole fucking time. Callie half-listened and half assessed the tent. There were eight legionnaires plus Caesar. The three that stood closest to Caesar were clearly the greatest threat and would have to be eliminated first. If there was any shred of pride left in Benny, he would have already reached the same conclusion. Would there be?

Callie thought, insanely, that Mint would actually answer her question. Benny had not looked up when she had entered the tent. That could mean anything. No, if he had given up, he would look at her, he wouldn't give a fuck about himself or her or anything. Keeping his eyes downcast was smart, smarter than she had been, better survival instinct.

Caesar wanted her to take the Chip. Would be given to her when she was ready to complete his task, destroy the bots beneath the hill. Destroy the bots. Bots, the Chip had to do with House's robots. Well fuck him and fuck the Chip then. She could do better. Even under the haze of Mint she had managed to override one of those bots with some careless command.

But she had to get Benny out, now. If she came back, bots blazing, they would surely just slay Benny before she could ever reach the tent again.

Her prize for helping Caesar, getting to decide how Benny would die. Well that sounded fucking wonderful. She'd probably get to be a slave after that. A girl could dream, couldn't she? Wouldn't it be such sweet revenge to kill the one who had killed her, Caesar continued. The lapdog's smile brightened at that.

"I talk to him before I do." She turned without waiting for Caesar to answer but the lapdog grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her back aground.

"Such filth does not speak to Mighty Caesar."

Callie laughed, and so did Caesar.

"Let her go, Vulpes." Caesar was clearly amused by his scout's loyal behavior. He was maybe more complicated a man than Callie gave him credit for. Didn't matter, he was dead in any case.

The razor was meant for her, the brass knuckles for him, but the razor was the more accessible weapon when she knelt down to "speak" to Benny. There was no time. The lapdog's eyes were on her. Straight razor removed, she only had time to slice through one layer of Benny's bindings before the scout was on her. She had anticipated this and managed to press the blade into Benny's hand before Vulpes tackled her to the ground. She had to trust that Benny could finish the job himself.

Vulpes was probably no stranger to beating women senseless, but it also seemed unlikely that he had ever been up against a cornered Vaultie. Callie knew she was strong, probably stronger than he would have ever anticipated, certainly stronger than the malnourished slaves Vulpes was accustomed to beating. For the most part, he had been following her either as a courier (how long had that been?) or with her skills dulled by the fog of Mint's intrusion. He wouldn't know.

His momentary surprise was clear enough when she used his own momentum in the tackle to continue rolling until she was on top of him. It was enough of a break in concentration that she slammed his skull once against the hard packed earth, hard. The first strike disoriented him further and she continued to pound his head against the ground until she was satisfied that his body went limp and the blood loss was significant.

There wasn't time to gloat.

Benny, true to the scrappiness of Tribal life, had freed himself and slashed through two legionnaires. At some point he must have abandoned the razor for a powerfist pilfered off of one of the fresh corpses. Callie snatched the blade off the ground and turned to face her next attacker.

She didn't have surprise on her side anymore. No doubt after watching her make short work of one of their officers, the remaining legionnaires knew she was a real threat. One, who seemed less experienced, came at her with too much enthusiasm and Callie was able to put the blade through his throat. He gurgled around it, blood flowing from his mouth as well as the wound and running down Callie's arm. She tried to yank the blade back out but while it tore at the young man's throat and sped the blood flow, it wouldn't come back out the way it went in.

"Benny, we need guns!" Callie was now weaponless, the stabbed legionnaire now lifeless on the ground. She was managing to dodge the attacks heading her way from two additional men, but she wouldn't last long if they were unable to put at least some space between Caesar's men and themselves. At least she wouldn't. This wasn't exactly her strong suit.

"Girlie, I'd love to blow this teakettle, but we're a little occupied.

A legionnaire struck her hard in the stomach, causing her to double over. Before he could strike her again, she managed to roll to one side toward the edge of the tent. If she could slide between the canvas and the ground, she could make her way outside and hopefully to where the guard had undoubtedly left her laser pistol, since he was now coming through the front flap.

"Suit yourself, asshole, I'm getting my fucking gun." Callie got most of her body out of the tent before someone grabbed her leg, attempting to pull her back inside. She tried to use her free leg to kick him off, but from her position on her stomach, it was impossible. There was nothing to grab onto to help her pull herself forward. Her face scraped against the ground as she was pulled backwards.

As abruptly as it started, the pulling stopped. Callie didn't have time to process what had happened and merely pulled herself forward again, freeing herself from the confines of the tent. Her sole focus was to get her laser pistol. Undoubtedly there were additional legionnaires making their way up the hill to Caesar's tent, but that was a problem two or three steps ahead of where she currently found herself. Darting to the front of the tent she found her weapon in a wooden box, E-Cells and all. It was already fully loaded.

Throwing open the flap of the tent she began shooting wherever she saw red on her HUD. Their armor was tough, sure, but the chance of the pistol simply disintegrating their protection was high enough that Callie would bet on herself. At least two of the legionnaires were still alive, but Callie didn't give a fuck about them right now.

"Out now!" If Benny was stupid enough to stay, he deserved his death. She hit one of the legionnaires in the arm, and then he didn't have an arm anymore. Horrified, he was unable to recover and collapsed to his knees. He'd probably have to live with the fact he let Caesar's killers get away. Had Benny killed Caesar? Had she in the flurry of shots she'd set off? It was a bit of a blur.

There was no way they could take everyone in the Fort with a single laser pistol and a powerfist. No fucking way. They had to make it to the river and hope to lose them. Callie aimed at the approaching legionnaires as Benny took the lead. She'd have to aim around the dumbfuck now. Great.

The position at the top of the hill was ideal for shooting, but not escaping. Even with perfect accuracy, she wouldn't have enough rounds to take out everyone in the camp. She had to follow Benny, at a distance.

Her HUD showed a pack approaching up the hill from the main gates. They were clustered together. If only she had thought to bring explosives. They would have to change direction instead.

"Benny, we need to scale the wall. We can't just waltz out the front entrance, there are at least ten of them approaching the gate." Callie had to yell over the screams of slaves and the inexperienced boys who had been playing solider and thought themselves men. Two relatively unarmed fuckups had thrown the camp into chaos. Was this all of Caesar's army?

Without looking back Benny changed directions and headed towards one of the tents that butted up against the wall. It would be difficult to get over the fence but they didn't have a chance. Scrambling up a pile of crates, they managed to get on top of one of the flat-topped canvas tents. Callie could feel it sagging and buckling under their weight. They would only get one chance to jump the fence. If they missed, the force of their fall would break the supports and bring the tent crashing down.

Her HUD showed no one on the other side of the fence, they were too busy coming in the front gate or already lining up their spears. Callie jumped first, trusting that Benny would follow. She got a hold of the lip of the fence and pulled herself over. A spear grazed her side and cut through her clothing and skin in succession. Still, she managed to clear the fence and brace for impact. The incline of the hill made a graceful landing impossible and she opted to roll down the hill, hopefully all the way into the river. Through her rolls it was impossible to tell if Benny had made it. Maybe there was a soft thump behind her that was his body, maybe there wasn't.

She was dimly aware that she was losing blood, but her adrenaline was so high that she couldn't really feel it yet.

The Colorado was cool even though the Mojave was always hot. River water rushed up Callie's nose and down her throat. The cold jolted her to her senses and she pushed her way back to the surface, taking in big gulps of air as she surfaced. Her nose and throat burned. Her side seared. Benny's arm was around her good side, laced under her arm and around her back. They floated together. The danger hadn't yet passed, but they laughed together.


	11. I Buried her Myself

Callie struggled to reach the shoreline but was too proud to tell Benny that she was straining. The gentle lapping of the river prohibited her wound from knitting itself, or maybe the cut was too deep to hope for a quick closure. It was impossible to judge how much or at what rate she was losing blood. The water mixed with her wound and clouded her perception of the injury.

It was obvious she was in trouble when Benny was gentleman enough to drag her onto the riverbank without telling her what he was about to do.

As far as Callie could tell, the Legionnaires had not pursued them into the river. No doubt there would be aggressive hunting parties in pursuit now. And the two of them stuck out in a major way. Benny tried to throw his jacket into the river; it kept drifting back to shore. He left it there, waterlogged and shouting like a beacon.

Callie was laughing again. She was hysterical and inconsolable. She was going to bleed out on the banks of the Colorado. She had beaten her rejecting brain so far. That fucking brain that put the safety and survival of the man who killed her above self-preservation. She laughed and laughed as she hemorrhaged blood out her side.

Distantly she could tell Benny was removing his shirt and tearing it into long strips. The latticework of his tattoos was both familiar and mystifying. Now on two levels her brain processed him. He was both a memory from long ago and a recent experience. He was speaking to her, a constant melody of words.

"Don't suppose you managed to smuggle any stims? No I supposed not." He went on answering his own questions, not so much as pausing for a semblance of waiting for a reply that might never come. The tremor in his voice made it clear enough, she was dying. Not that she wasn't dying before, but it was really fucking rapid now. "If you did manage to smuggle anything in I'm sure your first choice would be your concentration candies."

He was using the long strips of fabric as binding around her gash. The makeshift bandages were damp with river water and pulled so tight now that she was fighting against them to breathe. Still, they needed to make due with what they had.

It was unclear if Benny was speaking to keep Callie at the edge of consciousness or because he couldn't bear the idea of extended silences.

"Girlie, that took some balls, talk about a suicide mission and for all the wrong reasons. No one is that good, not even me. And with only a straight razor to your name." He let out a long, drawn out whistle. "You didn't even need it though, did you, Girlie? I'm certain those misogynistic mother fuckers didn't see you coming, you hellcat."

With the blood flow slowed, the world didn't seem quite so far away. The blurry lines of consciousness were sharpening bit by bit. Callie managed a smile, at least she told herself to smile. It would have never occurred to her that Benny would have such an extensive vocabulary.

"Yeah? You did that on purpose, didn't you? Beat them at their own hand-to-hand game?" Though she still couldn't open her eyes, the shift in Benny's tone indicated that his worry was lessening. Her command from her mind to her lips must have completed its path because she smiled. "Still, your technique could use some work, bit sloppy all around, but still effective. Reaction time was stellar. We can work on the rest."

This time the smile settled on Callie's lips and she let it remain there as she drifted off, Benny still rattling off inane nonsense.

/

When she woke, the sun had already gone down, from the looks of it, and the cool temperature, several hours prior. Her back was pressed against the blown out remains of a concrete building. She was on her side, with her injury facing up. Benny was flush against her front, one arm under her body and the other thrown across her shoulder. She was pinned in, shielded as best as possible from harm. Her side ached, but it wasn't a sharp pain anymore. It was hard to tell really how incapacitated she was without standing up. If the bleeding had stopped, she wanted the makeshift bandage off as soon as she could manage. That would require waking Benny up. She was into that.

Pressing against Benny's naked chest, Callie managed to partially dislodge herself from his arms and pull herself up into a seated position. Her side protested flecking pain down her body in waves. Fucking legion and their Tribal bullshit. Spears, fucking spears of all the fucking damn things!

Callie's fingers worked the tight knot with ease and she unwound the fabric that bound her. There was plenty of blood on the bandage. It had seeped all the way through to the surface. All of the blood appeared dry until she got to the innermost layer. The fabric stuck a bit to the still-open wound and there was some discomfort as she pulled free from the final bit. Callie tossed the soiled bandages as far as she could but their lightness didn't translate into much momentum and they landed only a couple of feet away.

It was probably in her best interest to stay put and sleep, but she wasn't at all tired now. After everything that had transpired she probably should have been exhausted. Sure, she had killed before, plenty of fuckers, but generally they weren't all clustered together like this. More than that, despite her little murder spree (all fucks who deserved it, mind you) she felt dull on the inside. There was no guilt, no elation. Shouldn't she have felt something at least? Even if it was the giddiness of a psychopath? Was it Mint who felt nothing? Did Mitchell and Henry fuck something up when she was their personal tinker toy? Was it Benny's bullet? Or maybe she had been this indifferent to death all along. No matter, she was upset at her inability to be upset. Fuck.

Benny woke beside her, rolling onto his back and swinging his arm straight into the pile of bloody rags. He didn't seem particularly concerned.

"Girlie," his voice was still laced with sleep, "you should have kept these on."

"Callie," she corrected.

"Girlie..."

"I'll heal faster without them." Callie wrapped her arms around bent knees, forcing her body to remain upright although she could already feel herself falling. They had to start moving again, by the morning at the latest, earlier if possible. She would have to be ready to stand, to run, to fight.

"Are you some sort of superhuman? Is that what your other friend told you? I mean, fuck. I thought I was going to have to bury you when I woke up."

Echoes in her head, I buried her myself. A hell of a Mint impression indeed.

"As far as I know, all vault residents are like me. We're just...better." She smirked, knowing such as statement would be taken as a taunt and challenge by Benny.

"Not true, those Vault 21 kids, Sarah and her brother, they're fragile. Don't ever go outside. But that's who you are? A true-blue vaultie? You sure? Your other boy tell you that?" Was that jealousy? No, too much to hope for.

She nodded. She tried to put conviction into the gesture but came up short. When she and Benny were apart, it was so very easy to be Callie, brash and sharp and talented. Here, injured, next to him, this weakness she felt for him could only be explained away by Mint. Callie should have wanted to kill him. Putting a laser beam through his brain would have been the just ending to their short history. Instead there was a past pulling her forward.

Because she could not convince herself that she had done the right thing in rescuing Benny, she instead threw herself headfirst into questionable territory.

Benny tensed when her lips crashed against his. That was clearly something he had not been expecting. Callie raked her tongue against his teeth, crooked and worn, they were tools of survival. Her hands drifted over his exposed chest and she surrendered herself to the flow of surfacing memories. Hands knew how to trace the scratched tattoos even with her eyes closed.

While he was initially shocked, Benny's hands became busy, eventually. They settled at the rolled over waistband of her stolen pants, stroking over the jut of her hipbone. Callie had only been losing bulk since stepping out of the vault, or at least since her most recent death. Her pants were rolled down further, off her hips and down the curve of her ass.

His mouth was dry against hers. He had been sacrificing on her account. No, too much to hope for, that he would sacrifice for her in kind after what she had done for him. That was not the way the Wasteland worked. Still, she pretended that he cared, that anyone could care. To be fair, for him to sacrifice on her account, well, he was a long way off from balancing the scales.

Divested of her pants, Callie gingerly made a move to roll Benny onto his back. The change in position forced their mouths apart. She had to swallow the dust that had settled on her tongue.

"Girlie." That voice was sincere. He didn't know her, she didn't know him, but maybe he wanted to. His name for her passing between his lips seemed almost like a promise. Almost.

She wanted to speak, but there were no words coming. No one had cared for her. Right now, he was no different. But that didn't change the fact she wanted it to be different. Fucking hell.

Muscle memory, pleasure, these were things she was certain could be exchanged, without the aid of 'care.' She ground her hips against him. In response, he winced. Winced? Benny screwed his face and slid his hand between his body and Callie's. Oh shit.

She couldn't help but redden. He was being quite clinical about it, adding to her embarrassment. His fingers shifted something in her underwear and Callie was absolutely mortified.

The brass knuckles slid out between Benny's fingers. He held the weapon up, clearly shocked, and something else. Callie wanted to crawl into a hole and fucking die, alone. They had been stored there for almost two days. While the sensation had been a touch...exciting for the first few hours, by the time she had reached Cottonwood Cove, her body had acclimated and she didn't even feel them concealed. During the fight at the Fort, there was no opportunity to pass them to Benny and she then had proceeded to completely forget about them. How they had managed to remain there through the following escape and dip in the Colorado was beyond her.

"Uh..." Callie started, "Mint thought you would like them."

Benny looked at her suspiciously and tossed them aside into the dust. "Mint told you?"

"Yes."

_I buried her myself. I buried her myself._

"I found more out. Not just my name and where I'm from." She scrunched her nose and rolled off of Benny, careful not to let her injured side come into contact with anything.

_I buried her myself. I buried her myself._

"I wasn't entirely wrong, about who I am, you were a little wrong too." She hadn't intended to speak in riddles.

"Tell me then." His hands traced paths over her cheeks. It was a bit more intimate than she had expected from him. They were only acquaintances. They weren't intimates, not really, sex wasn't enough to cross that hurdle. Maybe their little carnage spree was though. That was kill or be killed shit right there, a real bonding experience.

"So you shoot me in the head, right?"

He winced, again. She was starting to get good at inducing that reaction. The sliver of moonlight that illuminated their position was more than enough for Callie to read his facial expressions in awkward detail. "Bang! Straight to the forehead." Callie tapped the unnaturally smooth surface where the bullet would have gone through. That was some fancy reconstruction the doctors had managed. "Then I'm buried. Far as I can tell. I might have been dead, at least for a little bit but that's not really important. So, my brain matter is fucking everywhere, I assume. You might know better than me." She was rambling. "The brain matter that belongs with this body. And apparently these two Wasteland fucks are looking for a body, brain matter fucking optional. Because here's the thing, they've got this other brain just sitting around, collecting dust, waiting for a body. Female preferred, but not required. I'm not sure it matters that much when you fancy yourself fucking Frankenstein." Callie wasn't sure he got the reference. He could read, right? That didn't mean books were easy to come by, why the fuck was she even thinking about this?

Callie took a deep breath to steady herself. If he hadn't caught on yet, Callie was about to make everything she suspected crystal fucking clear. "I don't know how they got it, but they had Mint's brain...at least part of it. They put it in here." She tapped her head again.

Benny recoiled, drawing back his hand and shifting away from her. He was predictably horrified, although what part of the story he found most offensive was up for debate. So everything was progressing exactly as Callie had anticipated. Awesome.

Callie was reaching the end of her energy. Spilling everything like that was exhausting. Mentally too. Mental, hah! She really fucking needed a Mentat, or ten. She had forgotten how to breathe, and her well-being would never be Benny's priority. Knowing now, as he did, that she was part Mint, part herself, had only heightened his disgust, where before he may have only been indifferent. Callie was certain of this.

In hindsight, she was probably well overdue for an attack. It was too much to hope that whatever Veronica had been funneling her was the only source of the seizures. Maybe whatever was in that water bottle had been exasperating the situation, but Callie felt the sensation overcome her, gripping her throat and twisting her stomach. There was nothing in her stomach, so she dry heaved at first. That was followed by a thin stream of blood. Then she collapsed.

It would probably be for the best if Benny just left her where she was. Knowing her luck, she'd wake up the next morning, alive and miserable. Why couldn't she just die already. It all seemed horribly unfair.


	12. Stop Naming the Robots

Morning was surprisingly cool. Callie coughed from the dryness in her throat and looked at her Pip-boy: 8:43. Predictably, Benny was nowhere to be found. Good. It was easier this way. If he outright left, there would be no way for him to turn on her later. It was only when she stood on shaky legs that Callie realized that her torso was bandaged again. This time, it was with her own t-shirt, leaving her in her sports bra and underpants. Her slacks were close by and she pulled them on, rolling the waistband so they sort of fit.

There wasn't anything left, not like they had anything to start with. Her laser pistol was M.I.A., but that was a piece of shit anyway. If she wanted a decent one she would have to scav for ages to get the caps. It would probably be easy enough to pick up some blunt weapon before too long. She sat on the blown-out window ledge of the "building" that had been their shelter for the night and flipped through her Pip-boy screens. Hunger was apparently a real problem...and dehydration. She didn't feel particularly hungry or thirsty, but that was probably why they had all been issued Pip-boys. Better to tell the sheep of their needs than try and have them make decisions on their own.

Jacobstown would take some time. Food and water would have to be acquired first, and a shirt, and maybe pants that fucking fit.

Looking at the marker that represented her, Callie cursed. Wrong fucking side of the goddamn river. Well, it wasn't as if she had been in a position to navigate whenever the hell it was they jumped into the river with the Legion crawling up their asses. Of course, this meant she was now in territory firmly held by the Legion, who were hostile to women at best and outright sadistic the rest of the time. Oh, that and she may or may not have killed their leader. Great, fucking great.

Her movement wasn't particularly fast, but she did manage to make it to the riverbank in one piece. The pain in her side was worse than she expected, which probably meant two things. First, that she tore the wound open again at some point during the vomiting/seizure rodeo and two, not that much time had elapsed since she was injured, or at least since her last seizure. She could check her Pip-boy for the date, but that would have only really been helpful if she could recall the date she had decided to fuck up Caesar's camp for a man who had now both shot her in the face and abandoned her in the wilderness. She was such a smart, level headed one. She was going to blame this one on Mint. Seemed as reasonable an idea as any.

Callie washed her face and then drank from the river. And to think that the Overseer claimed the world would be uninhabitable. Other than the raiders and giant scorpions and bloodthirsty Tribals, the world above was a goddamn picnic. No, really.

The footfall behind her was loud, amateurish. Having no weapons, Callie braced herself to grapple. If the offender was some dumbass rookie Legionnaire without ranged weapons, she might stand a chance. If it was some fuck with a gun, she might be well fucked.

"Girlie." Benny, it was Benny.

Callie turned to face him. There he stood, laser pistol in one hand and two furry creatures in the other. He tossed the pistol at her feet and Callie gripped it like it was her salvation. She swore never to speak ill of that beautiful piece of shit again.

"I'm not much good with it. And when I finally did hit something with it, it just disintegrated." Benny frowned.

"I know, awesome, right?" Callie couldn't help but smile. He should have abandoned her. She wanted him to abandon her. That would be normal, familiar. But he hadn't. He was still there.

"So," he offered her a hand and pulled her up, "do you want to start the fire or clean these?" He lifted the mammals, squirrels, they were squirrels.

She scrunched her face, "Fire."

Benny nodded and they made their way back to their half-shelter. Callie took the pistol with her as she gathered a bit of dry shrubbery and twigs. Straight up wood would be way too much to ask. It was lucky that they wouldn't have to burn garbage. Arranging the tinder as best she could, she pulled the lighter she had carried since Freeside out of her sports-bra.

"It's like you're a sexy booby-trap." Benny remarked.

Pockets were unpredictable though, Better to conceal things in closer positions.

Callie laughed despite the bleakness of the road ahead.

"So, does that happen often? And yes, yes, I realize it's probably my fault." Benny spread the meat over the fire. It barely resembled the animal it came from now. Squirrel, fucking squirrel, big and fat enough. Benny could trap these with his hands instead of having to shoot them. Mint remembered this. She had been disgusted by it. He wouldn't to it again in Mint's presence.

"Is what your fault? And yes, it probably is your fault, whatever it is."

The meat was beginning to brown, it smelled good. Mint may not have approved of Benny's methods, but Callie was too hungry to care.

"The vomiting, the fainting, the uncontrollable twitching...the..." There was something else, another symptom he wasn't mentioning.

"What?"

"The screaming." Oh, she didn't know about that one. "You were screaming, but not really awake, at least you wouldn't respond."

"I can imagine that attracted attention." Callie aimed at being flippant, she was over being serious about her condition.

"I took care of it." Benny lifted up his left arm, now riddled with bite marks, some of them quite deep, breaking the skin, but there was little tearing. It was mostly punctures.

"Didn't know you were into that."

Benny laughed. "You should have known." He patted her on the back. It was friendly.

"I dunno, sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn't." Callie didn't have a better answer than that.

The squirrel meat was stringy and gamey, like most Wasteland meat. It stuck between Callie's teeth and she worked the excess debris out with her tongue. Still, given her weakened state, it was a blissfully excellent meal. They ate in a comfortable silence until the bones were picked clean. Benny broke open some of the larger bones against the concrete wall and sucked the out the marrow as well.

"So what do you think? Are you good enough to get moving? We're probably not welcomed here." Benny was looking out towards the river they would now have to cross.

Callie flipped through her Pip-boy assessing her condition again. She wasn't in great shape even now. Dotted lines circled her torso, indicating her injury. That being said, she'd sure as shit prefer to die running than standing still.

"Yeah, let's move out, I'm good."

Benny eyed her suspiciously, but didn't comment on her health. They had nothing to pack up, so Benny snuffed out the fire with his shoe and they headed towards the Colorado. They'd have to follow the bank until they found a place to attempt a crossing that wasn't fucking awful. Both knew well enough to stay alert, but the silence between them was clearly getting to Benny, social creature that he was.

"You seem awfully concerned with your little toy now." He gestured to her Pip-boy. Callie hadn't even noticed that she had been fiddling with the knobs.

"Yeah, I guess it's just...nice to have my own back." Nice might have been the right word. She wasn't exactly sure, comforting, maybe.

Following the bank meant their scavenging options were severely limited. Both still lacked shirts and Callie was low on ammo. It might have been a lost cause to scav anything before crossing the river. She considered initiating fast travel, once they found a clear way across, but she was unsure if she would be able to pull Benny with her in her weakened state.

"Here." Benny had stopped walking. Along the way he had been collecting small, light objects to test the currents. Callie didn't have much knowledge in the way of bodies of water. She could only swim well enough not to drown. That's all anyone ever needed, right?

Satisfied with the water conditions, Benny waded into the river until he was hip deep. He looked...good.

Callie still hesitated on the shore. It was a lot harder to work up the courage to get in the water when she wasn't being chased by angry Legionnaires.

Breathe, Callie, breathe.

Instead of thinking about the water lapping against her flesh, Callie focused on survival. One arm, one leg at a time, she kept pace with Benny. Meters between herself and the opposite bank closed steadily. The wound on her side protested. It would start burning as it dried, but that was something to worry about on the other side. Weakness was something she couldn't afford. Weakness would make her like all the other Wasteland fucks waiting around to die. She was fucking special. Fuck yeah, she'd live to see the other side of the Colorado and then she'd fucking kill Doctor Henry. Then she would die like all the other Wasteland fucks.

Callie could have kissed the dusty ground as she threw herself onto the west bank. Shit god fucking damn. Not that they were out of danger. No, that would be too much to ask. But at least there would be less swimming in her future.

The bandages were now water logged and she wanted them off. She untangled the knot and tore them away with a flourish. Benny visibly sighed.

"You're impossible."

"I'll heal faster." She left the fabric where it fell.

"I've yet to see any evidence of that."

The muscles in her arms and legs burned from the exertion. It was a pleasant feeling.

"So, you won't have problems getting back to the Strip, will you?" Callie was setting her Pip-boy to route her to Jacobstown. The sooner she resolved this, the sooner she could die satisfied.

"Some of us know how to navigate without fancy little computers, yes." Benny smiled, it seemed genuine enough.

They were just north of Boulder City, still far too close to the Fort. Everywhere was now too close to the Fort, whole fucking Mojave.

Getting to Jacobstown would take some persistence, especially because Callie wanted to skirt around New Vegas entirely, lest she encounter Veronica still milling about, or Arcade with his eyes and his questions.

"Wait, you're coming with me, Girlie."

Callie scoffed. That was awfully presumptuous of him. Save a guy from certain death once and suddenly he's all up in your business. Well, maybe she was the one being unreasonable? No, definitely him.

"Yes, you are, we both have things to do. But right now you need to at least humor me and rest...and get a goddamn shirt, maybe some pants that fit you. Make an effort to at least look civilized.

"I don't have the time. If it wasn't obvious, I've got problems."

"We're all fucking dying." Benny cringed at his own words. "Get over yourself."

That bastard. As if Benny didn't believe himself to be all important as well. Everyone was out for themselves, the two of them were no different.

"I don't have the time." Callie snarled through gritted teeth, still white and in perfect rows.

"You have time. Time enough to be having this argument."

It wasn't about time, not really, it was about avoiding the present, maybe dallying in the past and future a bit longer.

"Can you get me into the Strip without going through Freeside?"

"Obviously. But first, Girlie, let's hit up the saloon in Boulder City. I could use a drink."

"And a shirt?"

"Whatever you say, Girlie."

There were a handful of outlying buildings that spotted the landscape just outside the remains of Boulder City. It would be too much to hope for to find much of value. Abandoned structures this close to settlements, no matter how meager, tended to be picked clean. Still, clothing wasn't exactly a hot ticket item (thankfully, through everything, they had both retained their shoes, small fucking miracles). Looking vaguely like they hadn't just shot up a Legion stronghold was actually kind of high on the list of Callie's priorities.

Among the dried out skeletons was a cache of suitcases. Fuckers who thought they could escape a nuclear war by train. Callie wasn't sure that was an idiotic idea or not. Just because her ancestors had been lucky and gotten their number pulled, that didn't necessarily make her inherently superior. Benny seemed to get along alright, despite the obstacles to his success. Most of her Vault-mates were dead, hell of a lot of good their superior upbringing did for them.

They started ransacking the suitcases and backpacks, with such a collection, they actually aimed for something in correct sizes.

The third suitcase Callie opened was filled with women's clothes. It was mostly dresses, but hopefully a pair of jeans or slacks would be rolled up in there as well. No t-shirts, but there was a button down that she threw over her shoulder for the time being, white with thin pink stripes. It would do. It was big enough in the shoulders, which was the main thing. Blissfully, a pair of jeans saved her from the nightmare of having to run to Vegas in a skirt. Benny had managed to procure both a shirt and new slacks. When Callie looked up form her search, he tossed her a heather gray t-shirt.

"You didn't look too thrilled with that one." He gestured to the garment around her shoulder.

Pulling on her new jeans, that actually zipped and buttoned at the top, they were great! Even if they were a bit low-riding on her hips. Pants too big! A first.

"You know me, paragon of femininity." The shirt actually felt warm and clean. She felt like an actual person.

Benny laughed, he did that a lot. "Don't know how you ever thought you were Mint, Girlie."

"Why are you doing that?" Callie scrunched her face. "I told you my name. You were using it for awhile."

Benny must have found a pack of cigarettes in his search for clothes and other valuables. He stuck his fingers down the front of her shirt without asking and fished out the lighter.

"You'll stretch it," she mumbled.

"You told me yourself. You're only part her, right? Part her and part my girl."

Callie liked the possessive way he staid that. Even if it wasn't intended for her. Really, it was the opposite of 'intended for her.' It was a statement delineating her from the person who actually held Benny's affections.

"So you're either both or neither."

Watching him engage in the vice of smoking made her crave a Mentat something fucking awful. Maybe in one of the backpacks?

"So you've sided with neither?" She turned away from him. They could just as soon have this conversation while she searched the bags again.

"I haven't made up my mind yet. You're a confusing one."

Callie pulled four jet canisters, all but one used, out of the side pocket of one bag. It was the best clue she had, so she started inspecting all the hidden gadget pockets on that bag.

"Just my luck, looks like I'll have to develop another habit or two." There was a psycho syringe and a pack of cigarettes, which she tossed to Benny.

"Keep those other chems. We'll trade them in. Come on." He offered her a hand up. "Maybe the saloon will have some. With those you'll more than be able to afford a tin."

"No, it's alright," it wasn't really, "let's just get to Vegas."

Benny nodded and pulled her towards him. Before Callie could actually register what was happening, they were hugging. Her arms were awkwardly wrapped around his waist.

"Don't tell anyone," he mumbled into the side of her head, against her hairline. "It'll ruin my image."

Callie snickered, "mine too."

"And what image is that, Girlie?"

"Whatever I want it to be.

They stuck to the main arteries getting back to Vegas. Legionnaires were close quarters fighters and Callie was not. Benny had scrounged up a 10mm back at the station. They would generally fare better out in the open if they were attacked. It gave them more time to spot an ambush and pick off attackers before they could reach the pair.

Callie still didn't feel comfortable engaging fast travel. Benny was fussing over her too much already and the process would at minimum exhaust her. They trod through the Wastes together, toward the gaudy beacon of New Vegas.

As they walked Callie formulated plans in the stretches of silence. New Vegas wasn't out of her way. If anything, it was the more direct route to Jacobstown. In a day or two, she was sure she would feel well enough to shoot up some humans. It was the prospect of super mutants that was giving her pause. She had heard the rumors about the settlement. Where though? Someone had spoken to her about Jacobstown's inhabitants. It would come to her. The pattern of memories coming and going was beginning to feel trite and predictable.

True to his word, Benny redirected their path well before Freeside. Callie doubted Veronica could have made it back into the Strip without her assistance. Arcade just didn't seem the type to both with frivolous entertainment. He was also less of a concern overall.

A lone Securitron staffed the otherwise unmarked entrance Benny led them to. The wall was a patchwork of siding, chain link and car scrap. House's Securitrons were just standard issue bots with a few tweaks for their end customer. They were old too, with some amateur refurbishing. No one made new bots from scratch. All Callie could manage were some custom appendage upgrades and new programming back in the Vault. She seriously doubted there were many who could take the rusting sacks of shit much further than that. There were always rumors of advanced androids, but that was as different matter.

Bots were sacks of shit, but she adored them. They made her feel useful, powerful.

"Welcome, Mr. Gecko, Courier Number Six." The bot's synthed voice was standard issue.

"Come now, Tom, always so formal." Benny patted the metal casing on the appropriate location where a shoulder might be and glided through the now open door.

"Courier Number Six, Mr. House wishes to remind you of his invitation and request."

Callie didn't answer and simply followed Benny behind the safety of New Vegas's pieced together walls.

"Sort of blew off Tom there."

"Tom?" Callie questioned.

"I like giving them names." Benny shrugged. "You going to see Not-at-Home?"

Benny pulled an errant Chairman walking the streets to the side and spoke to him in hushed tones. Callie wasn't interested enough to pry and waited for Benny to finish his business before responding. It gave her time to think up an answer in any case.

"I don't think I'll have the time. I'll rest up a little then off to...visit the other doctor." She didn't provide any more information about her intentions. It would only worry him. Maybe he'd try to convince her not to go. She'd need backup, but not him. He had his own game to play here on the Strip. "If I'm still alive after that, maybe."

Benny held the door for her when they reached the Tops. The greeter began his script before Benny filed in behind her. The greeter's eyes went wide. They probably looked like utter shit, even with the relatively fresh clothing. The idea made Callie smile, that and the slow realization that Benny would never be the Man in the Checkered Coat again. Like fuck the Wasteland had more than one of those atrocities.

Swank stepped over and eyed them both. "Good trip?"

"Yeah, really excellent." Benny leaned on the counter top and lit his cigarette with Callie's lighter. He offered it back to her and she tucked it back into place, reaching from the bottom of her t-shirt instead of the top. She didn't miss Benny eying the exposed skin on her stomach as she did so. The metal was warm against her chest. He must have been fidgeting with the lighter in his pocket during the trip.

"So there might be a few Legionnaires who want us dead."

Swank raised his eyebrows.

"More dead than usual, at least. So let's be on the safe side. No Eastern accents, no suspicious characters. And Girlie here can pack as much plasma as she likes." He tapped his cigarette into the available ashtray and continued. "Maybe give her the side eye if she brings a fatboy through, but let her do it, judge all you'd like, though." He paused thinking something over. "If she comes with someone, disarm them." Benny put out the cigarette and turned from Swank, the implication clear that the exchange was over.

"You've got a habit of having finks for friends." His smile really was something else.

The Chairman from earlier appeared at Benny's side, pressing a paper bag into his hands. The kid earned a smile and a pat on the back for his good work and continued discretion. Benny passed the bag to Callie and mouthed 'not here.'

Callie didn't have to open the packaging to know its contents. Four tins. Thank fucking god.

Boldly, she leaned against him in the elevator, while they were alone. His arm wrapped around her waist, settling on her hip, aware of the location of her wound and avoiding it. They moved apart moments before the door slid open. They walked side by side to Benny's suite, because there was nothing shameful about people knowing they were fucking.

"You shower first." Benny poured an amber colored liquor into the first tumbler that caught his eye and lit up a fresh cigarette from a pack on the bar with a lighter of his own.

An irrational part of someone's mind in Callie's skull was disappointed he didn't go for her lighter.

She kicked off her shoes and left them in the middle of the sitting room before padding to the bathroom. It was only now in the cleanliness of Benny's suite that she became aware of how filthy she was. Her shirt, straight-from-the-apocalypse-clean earlier that day had become stiff in spots from sweat. Her pants were caked with dirt halfway up her shins and the dust worked its way between the fibers of the whole garment.

She didn't even want to take stock of her socks, some things were better left unmentioned.

Water ran hot and cold through the taps and Benny had soap, real soap that lathered between Callie's hands as she rubbed them together and over her body. Even though it was heavenly to be clean, she didn't dally in the shower. Those Mentats were calling her name.

Moisture held in the air when Callie stepped out of the shower. Even the coarse towel felt wonderful, if only because it was clean. She inspected the condition of her wound. It had begun to close, although not nearly as much as she would have hoped or expected. It didn't weep anymore, but it still looked too bright and too fresh. Maybe the spear had been tainted with something. That would be terrifying for sure.

She only made a half-hearted attempt to dry herself before opening the door to the bedroom. A white t-shirt and pair of plaid boxers had been laid out on the bed, presumably for her, but if not, she was going to wear them anyway. The water dripping from her wet hair immediately turned portions of the shirt translucent. It wasn't like she planned on leaving the suite, anyway.

Benny was still standing in the sitting room, drinking and smoking and trying to come into contact with as little of the furniture as possible.

"I figured you'd want to be comfortable, but my slacks shouldn't be too big on you to manage, if you'd like."

"Nah, I'm alright." Callie made a beeline for the paper bag and removed one of the metal tins. She always liked the tinned ones best. The Mentats in the cardboard packaging just hadn't stood the test of time as well.

Benny made his way to the bathroom, leaving Callie alone to indulge as she wished. She poured a glass of water from the bar and set aside three pills. Three was a touch excessive, but fuck it, she was going to treat herself.

The pills went down easy, one by one. She chewed a bit on the last one, even though all the labels always said not to do that. It was a bit chalky in her mouth.

Mentats weren't a high, not really. It would take a few minutes to settle in, but Callie could already feel her vision becoming impossibly sharper. Her head felt clearer, lighter, like everything was moving faster but without the strain of having to processes anything.

She had done this before. While she tried to tell Benny that she needed the pills now, after what he did to her, it was now clear in her mind that this all started before that. Benny had known, with those skeptical looks and the talk of her addict's eyes. Bullshit. He knew even before that, when she wasn't a person to him but a slip of paper and a package that was probably full of shit code. None of the players, not House, not Benny, not Caesar, knew the woman carrying the Chip could probably code circles around whatever two-bit program the Chip was carrying. It was her own trump card for a game she wasn't even interested in playing.

When Benny emerged from the bedroom, clad in light cotton pants and a tank top, Callie was sprawled on the floor giggling at regular intervals at the absurdity of the situation.

"You look happy," Benny commented.

"Tell me what you think was in that package you took from me?"

"The Platinum Chip, it will let me upgrade House's Securitrons before I take control of them. But I suppose that's a lost cause now, I'll have to use them as is."

An irrational sort of laughter poured from Callie's mouth. She laughed a lot around Benny, for a whole host of reasons.

"I bet you I'm better than whatever was stored on that lousy Chip." Callie rolled onto her stomach and looked up at the still standing Benny. "I'm like a...robot wizard!"

Benny cocked his eyebrow.

"Okay, Wizard, I think it's time you get some rest." He offered her a hand up, which Callie accepted. She crashed against his chest. He smelled like soap. Really, they smelled like each other in the harsh light of his suite, his soap, wearing his clothes. One of his hands was still in hers while the other rested at her waist. He probably held Mint like this. Funny, they had started with her murder, a pursuit, a fuck, now it had come to this strange sort of awkward affection. Callie couldn't make sense of it.

Benny directed her to the bedroom, made sure she was adequately covered. It was a paternalistic gesture and Callie hated it. It was still too early to sleep, but she was so tired. The effects of the Mentats had run their course all too soon. Her metabolism had burned right through them.

"You're not staying?" Benny was still standing by the bedside and made no move to get in next to her.

"I have some things to take care of."

"I don't have time to rescue you again."

"I know, Girlie, I know." Even though her eyes had already drifted closed, she could hear him roll his eyes at her insult.


	13. You're Fun

Arcade offered her a hand up. He was just so...big. Callie hadn't yet gotten used to how diminutive most Wastelanders were compared to her and the other Vault dwellers. But Arcade, he was something else, that was for fucking sure. When he pulled her up she 'accidentally' lost her balance and ended up pressed against his broad chest. In an awkward sort of shock he threw both his arms up in the air. Callie didn't mind, she was sort of awkward too. He smelled of dust and crushed flowers from his research. His fingertips were stained by the petals he processed by hand. There weren't men like him in the vault. Maybe, if there were, her life would have turned out differently. The two of them were sort of similar, maybe.

Arcade teased her that if the two of them pissed off their fellow Followers anymore they would both be shipped off to Jacobstown to live with the super mutants.

Callie woke with a shock. Arcade. He was the one who knew about Jacobstown. He had been there, maybe? Something tightened in her chest. She couldn't go alone. Even with her skills, she needed backup. At the Fort she had certainly started something, but Benny was there to help her finish it. Veronica had helped her all the way to Freeside.

Then there was the problem of her instability. At any moment, really, she ran the risk of losing control of herself. So far, she had been lucky to either be alone in a decently secure structure or had someone with her. Going to Jacobstown alone in wasn't really an option, as much as she would have liked it to be. She'd find a way to convince Arcade. She still wasn't entirely sure he could be trusted, but he was a good few steps above Veronica, who was definitely on Callie's shit list.

Benny had never come to bed.

She toyed with the idea of asking Benny to come with her, but shoved those thoughts away. There were multiple games at play here and he was probably a key player in the game more important than her revenge. The stability of the Mojave was at stake here. Everyone seemed to want her to get involved. She would get involved, but only as much or as little as she wanted.

Besides, if Benny said no...

Callie threw the covers off and set her feet on the floor. Her side felt...better. Tomorrow she would go to Freeside and enlist Arcade. Hopefully Veronica wouldn't still be milling around. There were supplies she needed.

"Girlie, you're up." Benny looked completely disheveled. It was pretty hot, she guessed. Through their escape from Fortification Hill he had seemed fairly composed, if a complete mess, but now he seemed genuinely stressed. "Come here."

Benny led her through a passage in the wall that she had not seen before. It must have been opened while she slept. The walls of the adjoining room were lined with computer terminals, some functional, some that were clearly kept around for scrap parts. In the corner of the room was a Securitron with a dopy grin and equally cartoonish eyes on its monitor.

"Meet Yes Man." Benny gestured towards the bot, that literally lit up at the mention of its name.

"You sure do have a lot of pretty lady friends!"

Callie felt a twinge of jealousy.

"Listen to her like you listen to me, alright?" He picked an already lit cigarette out of a nearby ashtray and took a drag. "Explain the plan to the pretty lady."

The bot proceeded to explain, in excruciating detail, Benny's plan to out House and gain full control of the Strip and some of the surrounding Mojave, enough to provide a buffer between his operations and NCR and Legion interests. This included several side plots. Lots and lot of details had to be accounted for, including blackmailing the other Strip families to keep them docile. At some point in the exposition, Benny left the room and returned with her Mentats tin and a glass of water. Fuck he was good to her now. She learned why Benny thought he needed the Chip and access to the bunker under Fortification Hill, as well as Yes Man's need to be installed at the Lucky 38 to run the whole show. Robots were only as good as their programmers and engineers though. Yes Man had some kinks to work out, that was for sure.

"Yes Man, tell me about you."

It diverted the conversation to its past as one of House's Securitrons and its low level connection to the network, even now, as well as Benny's 'pretty lady scientist friend' who had reactivated him and performed personality adjustments. That made sense, it was unlikely that Benny would have been able to reprogram a bot, his talents lay elsewhere. Callie was vaguely familiar with Emily. They may have met while Callie was with the Followers, or maybe she was just spoken about, the memories weren't precise. Julie Farkas had mentioned her the other day. Not much from that time period had come back to her yet.

"So you'll accept my commands, right?"

"Yes Ma'am! Whether I want to or not."

Callie first needed to plug the most dangerous loopholes. Better programming would take time. She hadn't worked much with the Securitron series, there weren't any requisitioned to her vault.

"Don't take commands from anyone other than Benny or I from now on." She scrunched her face, considering how secure they needed to be. "Limit packets between yourself and House's networks to 32 bytes."

"As you say, ma'am!"

Taking Yes Man off of House's network entirely ran the risk of not being able to get it back on. A compromise was the best she could do right now.

"Do you have sort range broadcast capabilities?"

"Up to 10 meters, ma'am."

"Transfer copies of all your current operating system and executable files to my Pip-boy." She flipped to the correct screen and created a new shared folder for Yes Man to deposit the files. "That will be all for now."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Benny was leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingertips, smiling like an idiot.

"So you staying then?"

"No."

His face dropped and her chest clenched in response. Maybe something was there. She'd probably never know. She wasn't a mind reader, fuck, she could barely make sense of social interaction presented in a direct, straightforward manner. She'd never actually make sense of Benny.

_I buried her myself._

"I'll leave tonight." She touched her wounded side. Yes, tonight would be fine. "Yes Man needs new programming, Emily just triaged it, got it up and working, but I suspect it's not pretty. I'll work on new code on the road. Also, I'll try to recreate what was on that chip. It's just programming changes as well as the attachment deployment script. All the programming to actually change over their weapon sets should be local to the machines that actually perform the upgrade." She actually found herself getting giddy. This was a multi-part challenge that would require creativity and attention to detail. This she had confidence about. She could do this. "If something happens to me, I'll make sure the code gets back to you. Yes Man should know how to take care of the rest."

Benny's eyes said 'don't go,' but his lips said, "make a list of what you'll need. I'll send one of my boys out to get it."

Callie nodded and didn't push the subject.

It would take a bit more time for all Yes Man's files to transfer over to the Pip-boy, so Callie began drawing up the list for Benny. She moved back to the bedroom where the light was better and the bed soft.

The list was straightforward enough. She requested leather armor for herself, reinforced if possible. Heavier armor wasn't really to her tastes. She needed to be able to move. Rather than a new laser pistol, (she had, after all, sworn to never speak ill of this particular pistol again) she needed a few common parts to improve the condition of her current one. If her memory was right, Arcade used laser as well, so she put now more e-cells than she would strictly need for herself. Enough dry and canned food for four days and a couple of stims. She didn't want to push the bounds of Benny's generosity. Armor for Arcade would have been nice, but she wasn't sure she could convince the Followers researcher to come with her and like hell standard armor would even fit him anyway. The Mentats she already had would last long enough. To Jacobstown and back, at least, if she lived that long. Callie twirled the pen between her fingers, thinking if there was anything else. Bobby pins and a screwdriver were never a bad idea.

Benny emerged from Yes Man's office and sat next to Callie on the bed. She passed him the list and let him look it over.

"You'll need more stims," he took the pen from her and doubled her order, scratching out the original number. "At minimum you should apply one to your side before you leave." He kept the list but handed back the pen, even though she had no use for it now. She tossed it onto the bedside table. "Yes Man likes you."

"Bots can't 'like' things. They're not people. It's just following your commands, shoddy as they are." She had to get that dig in.

"And here I thought you were the robot wizard." He bumped his shoulder into hers.

"I am! It means all their magic is less wondrous to me. I've seen behind the curtain."

"You really think you can do better than the Chip?"

"Listen, Benny, since I've relearned myself there's one skill I know I'm the best at. You've seen what I'm like in combat."

Benny nodded.

"I'm like, ten times better at science shit than I'll ever be at combat. I've got this."

"Why? I thought you weren't interested in getting involved? If you were you'd either be staying or you would have offed me already." It was a cynical statement of fact.

"I'm not interested in the ends. What the fuck would I do with control of New Vegas?" What the fuck was she doing with him, for that matter. "I like the means, is all. I'll write the programs because it's fun for me. I'll give you the programs because you're fun too."

Benny seemed pleased with her answer.

There was a knock at the door. Benny's runner was there to retrieve Callie's list. He must have called down to the lobby at some point. There was a gentle click as Benny sent the boy on his way and re-locked the door.

"He'll probably take a couple of hours." Benny carried two glasses into the bedroom, one amber, one clear. Callie took the clear one from him, vodka. Fuck the fact it wasn't even afternoon yet. Things like that didn't matter. "Want to make use of our time?" His tone was teasing, right at the boarder of predatory.

Callie downed her glass quickly. It burned going down her throat, abrasions from the vomiting were coming into contact with the alcohol.

There was a small knot of panic in her chest. Who was it Benny wanted to spend time with? She was over-thinking this. She thought of Mint. Mint who would be confident in her place, with Benny tucking his hands under the thin cotton of his shirt on her body, rolling his hands in lazy circles along her abdomen. They maneuvered independently in the bed so they were lying down, rather than sitting on the edge. This had all been so much easier when she thought she was someone else.

Benny propped himself up on his elbow and used his free hand to stroke along Callie's body. Since the time previous (it seemed so long ago), she had acclimated to the intense heat of his body against hers. His rough fingers danced underneath the waistband of her boxers and stroked against her thigh. There was a small tug, a suggestion that she spread her legs, just a bit. She complied and the new space allowed Benny to press the pads of his fingers against her. Those hands were still accustomed to a smaller woman, but this time he adjusted from her pants and whines. The sensation moved from simply pleasant to blistering in a short interval. Callie didn't want to show weakness, but still she bucked against his hand.

"Look at me." Softly spoken.

She hadn't even noticed her eyes had been closed. A reel of memories had been playing in place of the experience in front of her. His hands on a different body. Her hands on other, softer bodies. Other hands on her. Her hands on herself.

It was too much, too intense, looking at him now, in real time. Their eyes held as she came, thrashing her legs and pulling away from those fingers that were still touching her lightly. Her breath was heavy. It was too much.

Benny's lips were at her ear, shushing her in a gentle manner. His sounds weren't quite words but they were meant for comfort. Her limbs loosened and the tight coil of her orgasm passed. Nothing had changed. They were as they were before. This would be fine.

Under her own powers she pulled off her shirt while Benny worked his clothes off. It was different, seeing him shirtless now as opposed to when they had been running. Necessity takes the same set of stimuli and arranges it into the most useful pattern.

She permitted him between her thighs, her previous sensitivity had dissipated. As she had done before, she stopped thinking about herself and allowed her body to move on instinct. If that meant someone else had taken over, perhaps it was for the best.

His hands planted on either side of her head, Benny moved against and inside of her in a practiced rhythm. On the bottom like this, Callie wasn't sure what she was supposed to be contributing. She stroked down the center of his chest, dipping fingers where his muscles were defined. She wanted this memory for herself, a pattern of movements and touches that were intended for her, whoever it was she was becoming.

The flesh of his outer thighs caused a pleasant friction against her inner thighs. As his pace increased, Callie gripped onto his hips, mimicking his thrusts with her hands, pulling him as he pushed into her. His forearms pressed against her shoulders as he supported his weight. Every point of contact felt intimate. When his lips fell forward onto hers, she pushed back up with all the force her neck could provide. She wanted to consume him like this, keep him on and inside of her. Acclimate his being to hers and erase the boundaries between them. Instead of sharing head-space with 'his girl' she wanted to make him entirely hers and erase any past that didn't include her. It was a violently possessive string of thoughts, to want him as a possession as well as a person.

Would her eyes always remind him of how she was different? Maybe the bump in her nose or the breadth of her shoulders. She wanted to tear that all down and set it aflame. But still, he looked at her like there was something there that he liked. The problem was she wasn't sure what it was.

Her blunt nails dug hard enough into the flesh at his hips to mark him, to make purple-red bruises well up on his freshly-tanned flesh. She'd leave soon, maybe not make it back, but at least he'd carry her marks for days, hidden under the fabric of his presentable, oh-so-not-tribal clothing.

That thought pushed her over, the thought of owning him as he had once been owned by her. She bit into his arm, the right one, this time, so it would stand apart from the markings she had left on him on account of her seizure. One side was for care, the other side, for possession. Her body this way, outwardly healthy, naked, writhing beneath him, she wanted this to be separate from her weakness and dependance.

She had half-regained herself as he spilled into her. His lips were at her ear again, but he had no name to use. As far as he was concerned, she was still a 'neither.' Instead of any name he panted "you, you, you."

That had to be enough.

It was a surprise, after he rolled off her, when he pulled her towards his chest, cradling her as he did after their escape from the Fort. There was no need for him to shield her from anything in the safety of his suite. They were both getting sentimental. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't safe, not for them or for anyone else. But particularly not for them. For all she knew, the fucking Legion was already in the lobby. She would certainly be a target once she stepped out onto the Strip. Maybe she could have afforded sentimentality in the vault, that's probably where she learned it. What was his excuse?

"You could shower, if you'd like."

"I won't." Her lips moved against his chest when she spoke. She didn't mark easily. This smell of sex would be all she had left of him.

Her Pip-boy beeped on her wrist. The file transfer from Yes Man had completed. The only reason left to wait was for her supplies.

"Why are you helping me, Benny?" When she no longer needed her mouth to speak, she switched to laying kisses along his flesh.

He shifted against her, resting his chin on the top of her head. There wasn't much of a height difference between them and her feet dangled off the edge of the bed.

"Because you're fun."

She smiled.


	14. Dancing with Boys who don't Like you too Much

The sun was only just beginning to recede when Callie reached Old Mormon Fort. The fucking Mojave and its fucking forts. A handful of doctors were attending to newly arrived junkies looking for shelter from the night. Chances were they'd be gone by morning. If any of the doctors recognized her, they didn't let on, too busy in their activities to give a damn.

Julie was nowhere to be seen, her usual post occupied by a young Follower who looked barely out of his teens. He probably fancied himself a 'doctor' as well, from the looks of his apparel.

Callie didn't bother to ask for a damn thing and headed towards the back of the fort, where the research tents were situated. Arcade was seated at his desk, all limbs and broad shoulders and things Callie knew she had dreamt about despite her best intentions. A naked light bulb in a dangerous looking fixture attached to a precarious electrical cord was illuminated on the desk. Arcade flipped through a heavy volume in his hands far too quickly to actually be absorbing its contents.

"Hey," hey? What the fuck sort of greeting was that? What was wrong with her?

Arcade was visibly startled by the interruption, letting the book drop onto the desk with a heavy thud and stirring the collected dust.

"Callie." His face softened somewhat when he faced her, tilting the chair around. "I assumed you ran away somewhere and died."

Well, that was certainly to the point, lacking any sort of sentimentality. She grinned sheepishly and shrugged her shoulders.

"Apparently I'm hard to kill."

"Apparently. Well, just don't stand there, if you don't close the flap, bugs will get in."

Callie dropped her pack on the ground and took one of the available chairs. Arcade's focus was still on her. And why shouldn't it be? Last time he saw her she must not have looked long for this world. And here she was strolling in, better condition than when she left.

"You certainly look better." He handed her a bottle of water without first asking if she wanted anything. Out of politeness, Callie accepted. This pattern of behavior was familiar.

Callie didn't divulge her suspicions about Veronica. Best case scenario, she would sound a bit bonkers. Plus, it wouldn't do any good now. Either Veronica had stayed or she had left. That was an issue to deal with later, if there was time.

"I guess I still have problems, sometimes. But I have some idea what is going on at least." She drank from the bottle in her hand, washing down the words in a rush. "After I was shot, some of my own brain matter was replaced with someone else's. So, yeah, I think my problems stem from that. I was an unwitting test subject."

Arcade shifted in his chair and it creaked under his weight. "That sounds a little far-fetched, don't you think? Isn't it more likely that your head trauma was enough? Mojave doctors don't have access to that kind of equipment."

Not lying, holding back. If someone could do that, would the Followers know? Maybe. It would be to their advantage to become involved in such research. It would be to the advantage of the Brotherhood to try and hoard it for themselves. Anyone interested in brute progress would want to investigate. Callie already knew from her popularity that she was a hot ticket item to have around. Did everyone else in the fucking Wasteland know about this shit before her? Was Benny not surprised enough when she told him? Too surprised? Everyone was suspect.

"I know who did it, Arcade. I'm going to find answers." She really meant revenge, but that revelation could wait. Arcade didn't need to know.

Arcade's eyes narrowed and she stood up from the chair. The sudden movement startled Callie and she drew up as well, her hand instinctively going to her hip. Arcade made no such move for his own weapon. Instead his hands came up to his face in a gesture of annoyance.

"You sure are stubborn. Why are you here?" He walked over to the wireframe bed in the corner and sat on the mattress. Callie took that as an invitation to sit next to him.

Strangely, she felt like a wide-eyed girl, asking for assistance from a treasured teacher. They had sat like this before, though not in this tent. She had needed something and Arcade tried to provide it.

"Come with me. I need help. You saw it, you know that I'm sick." She laced her fingers together nervously. Was this another one of her own physical tics coming back to her…she wasn't sure. "I have fits, still. I can't make it on my own."

Arcade planted his hands behind himself and leaned back, his head almost touching the canvas tent. "How did you make it this far, you've been gone almost a week."

There was risk to revealing herself, but now that she had started, it felt pretty good to continue. "I've been lucky, I was in a safe place once when it hit me." Well, safe once she had killed Dr. Mitchell. "The second time I had help." Maybe she could still hold back, a little bit, when it was really important.

"So what happened to that help, eh?" His confident smile suggested he was on to her, in a general sense, probably not specifics.

"He has other obligations."

"You do seem to like the ones you can't have."

Callie pushed Arcade's shoulder but he didn't budge a bit. "What makes you think I didn't have him?"

Still, that smile. It killed her, really.

"So, are you coming with me or not?" She let herself fall back into the bed as well, soaking the heat that came from Arcade's body as the ambient air temperature dropped around them.

"I don't even know where you want to go. But I'm pretty sure my answer is 'no.'"

"I thought you liked me?"

"I bet you thought that."

Callie pouted. Seriously, silly school girl. These reactions were weird without reference to the origin.

"Jacobstown. You're the only person I've heard talk about it."

She didn't have to look at Arcade to feel him tense beside her. His breathing became uncharacteristically regular, like he was thinking about every breath and how to line up his bodily rhythms. He'd hold back, that was for certain. She'd reveal too much and he'd let go of too little. Didn't really matter, as long as it helped her get her own way.

"Don't go. Stay here." Arcade threw his arm across her body. He was strangely desperate. A strange, suffocating kind of feeling came over Callie and for a moment she thought she was about to enter another fit. But no, it was only Arcade's too-close presence, he was outright lying now. He didn't really want her to stay here, only he didn't want to go to Jacobstown, and, more importantly, he didn't want her to go without him either.

She sat back up in the bed and Arcade didn't try to restrain her. If she wasn't careful he'd do something he regretted only to make her stay, or give up her quest, or something.

"With or without you, I'm going. Please though, I need your help." They could leave in the morning, if only she could convince him.

"There's nothing for you there."

"There's something for you, though, isn't there?"

There was that tension again, heating the once cold space between them.

"You're sick."

"Of course I am."

She wouldn't really leave now, with the sun already down. But that didn't mean she couldn't threaten to. She swung her feet back onto the packed earth floor and made a show of re-tying her shoelaces. Something to give Arcade time to think his decision over. He may have thought that he knew her, but he was also smart enough to know that she had grown (or had always been?) unpredictable. Raising herself up, she snatched her bag from the floor. Arcade spoke again before she opened the tent flap.

"Tomorrow," his face was in his hands again. "We can leave tomorrow. Come back here. Take off your shoes."

Callie dropped her pack, probably with too much excitement, and toed off her shoes, leaving the laces intact.

"It's too early for bed, don't you think?" Still, she slid in next to Arcade, who had yet to reveal his face to the world.

"Do what you'd like. I've got thinking to do, and I'd rather do it warm and in bed." He pulled the covers up from the foot of the bed, tucking them both in. That sliver of heated space remained between them. Might as well have been the fucking Grand Canyon.


	15. Med-X is a Hell of a Drug

Callie's blood pumped through her ears as she swapped EC cells from her pistol. At regular intervals exasperated groans let her know Arcade was still alive and well behind the blown-out concrete shell of a building. His shots were few and far between. Mostly he was a waste of ammo, but at least they could share.

The wound in her leg was steadily stitching itself back together as the stimpak took effect. Another 90 seconds and she could run between the buildings and take on the armored fiend leader at close range. A solid crit to his head should render him into a pile of smoking ash. Only she needed to be closer, there was too much debris flying around and the sun was in her eyes. If there was one thing her practice in the vault hadn't prepared her for, it was the capricious cycles of sunlight, always changing the fucking angle.

The constant pain in her fingers was a slight deterrent. Her mind was a little high from the exhilaration and bloodlust and three Mentats she popped 20 minutes ago when this all started. She was a bit wild, a bit tribal, a bit Mint. Or maybe Benny had fucked the tribal right into her. Mint had been kind of stoic, after all.

Observation had already demonstrated that the fiend was shit with his 10mm. So, leg now functional, Callie sidestepped her way through the narrow channel between buildings. She didn't bother to judge or anticipate where the fiend would shoot. Rather, she sidestepped quickly, erratically, changing directions rapidly and forcing the fiend to commit to unwieldy shots until his clip ran dry. No restraint, that one. Not fully himself (and much higher than Callie), the fiend looked away to reload and Callie hit him hard at the knees, toppling him. Her laser was practically in his mouth as she straddled him and pulled the trigger.

But it didn't crit.

Bits and pieces of his lips, jaw, cheeks, eyes, they flew into Callie's face and hair. There seemed to be so little blood, but that was only because it had strewn so wide, splattering in a sick red-brown halo around Callie and the corpse. Blood spray left Callie's outline traced in the dust behind her.

She lifted the hem of her shirt out from the gap between the top and bottom of her armor and made an attempt to wipe her face. It seemed wholly normal. Arcade was beside her with a bottle of water. She drank half of it with a long gulp and handed it back. Arcade wiped the lip of the bottle before resealing it and tossing it into the pack.

Barring any additional encounters, they would reach Jacobstown by nightfall.

/

They were given a friendly welcome to the settlement, even if it was not a particularly warm one. The giant, gentle, hulking, Marcus smiled at Arcade and patted him on the back, both confirming Callie's suspicion and producing new anxieties. The doctor had gone to bed.

The nurse was still up if they needed treatment. If not, it could wait until morning. Callie couldn't wait. She had one, beautifully short episode on their way here. That's why their arrival had been much later than intended. After that encounter with the fiend everything had been fine. But the Mentats wore off, she stroked her hair out of her face and it had come away with a bit of fiend on it. When Callie woke up, her hair was damp and her head was in Arcade's lap. The part of her that still knew shame drove her to blush at the intimacy of the contact. For all his impossibility, Arcade was still awfully enticing.

Another mutant, a gentle one who walked softly with practiced steps showed them to separate rooms. Wouldn't Arcade forgive the change because there had been an accident in the bungalow. It wasn't Callie's place to pry into what had indisposed the bungalow, but sure as shit she was going to find out why Arcade was such a regular here.

It was difficult making out when the soft-stepping mutant had finally made his/her way down the hall and out of chaperone distance. When Callie was confident of his/her departure, she exited her room and turned the knob to Arcade's. She didn't bother thinking about the lock, and there was no need. Arcade stood by the side of the bed, already stripped to his boxers and now staring at her with apparent shock.

When the fuck did men get so attractive? Was it just Vaultie boys who were soft pieces of bigoted shit? Or was this another case of extraneous brain matter fucking her up? Even through her blush she kept her fucking act together. Right.

"Why does everyone here know you, Arcade?"

"I've been here before." The response was non-committal. Not a lie and still not enough of a disclosure.

"You know Dr. Henry." Not a question, not really.

"Yes."

"You know about me?" This time it was a question, hesitant. The idea that the one person she could confirm with some certainty knew her both before, and now after, would have been in on this plot.

"No."

Please, please, please, not a lie. Callie didn't know if she could bear the weight of that lie.

"Do you know about me?" Something was not right; something was off. Lies lies. Arcade was full of lies, they spilled from his mouth like water and charming compliments.

Arms flailing, Callie launched herself against the much heavier Arcade entirely without grace. Seamlessly she shifted from flailing to striking, transitioning from desperation to anger. She knew her own strength, a little. There was little doubt, even in her clouded mind, that she could rip a Wastelander in two. She had overpowered plenty of them. This was different.

"Where are you from, what number? What number!" She made to tighten her grip around Arcade's throat, but it was too thick, her hands frustratingly too small. In the haze of an attack, Callie didn't even have the presence of mind to keep her voice down.

Despite his lack of combat skill, Arcade easily overpowered her.

'Which vault, which vault, which vault,' repeated itself over and over in her head, the only explanation she could latch onto.

Skill didn't mean a damn thing in her fitful state. Arcade pried Callie's hands off his neck and flipped her over, reversing their positions. His large hand covered her mouth and muffled her voice as she shrieked and thrashed. It was clumsy, the way Arcade maneuvered to put his legs on the outside of hers in order to better secure her to the floor.

It wasn't until long minutes into her fit that Callie realized that she was crying. Warm tears streaming down her face and turning the dust in the carpet into mud. The fight started to leave her body and her mind cleared. It was like coming through a fog into an open, damp clearing.

"I thought I was here because you trusted me." Arcade's hand didn't leave her mouth. Moisture built up against his palm as Callie tried to regulate her breathing. He must have seen the madness leave her eyes because his expression softened and he removed his hand, sitting back and moving off of Callie, letting her move freely again. Making no indication of standing, Arcade sat next to her as she composed herself.

"You weren't born in the Wastes, or at least didn't grow up there. You're like me."

"Why does this matter, Callie?" Arcade looked exhausted. Of course, it had been a long day. And he was so deeply private. She knew that.

"Brotherhood."

The full, uninhibited laughter that rolled from Arcade's whole body took Callie by surprise.

"I one hundred percent promise you, Callie, on my honor as a man and a researcher, I am not with the Brotherhood of Steel."

Callie could only watch him blankly. Silence hung between them a few clicks longer as she rolled the idea around in her mind.

"That was different than your previous episodes, Callie."

"Yeah, I didn't puke all over myself." There was no laughter at that, even though there was the desperation of a joke hidden inside.

"Come on," that big, masculine hand offered her help up, and she accepted it, resisting the urge to fall against his chest. Five minutes ago she had tried to choke him to death and now she was having those strange, warm feelings of arousal again. No doubt about it, she was sick. Multiple kinds of sick.

Arcade maneuvered her into his bed and made for the door. "I'll get your things. I'll be back."

She couldn't remember if she acknowledged his statement or not.

Mentats fell into her palm and Arcade placed a glass of water into her other hand before he climbed into the other side of the bed.

This illness needed constant vigilance.

The pills were hard and dry in her mouth, the lacked the sweetness that normally accompanied addiction. Even after she washed them down, there was that dry lump in the back of her throat.

Big hands, again, drawing her close against Arcade's chest. Her filthy armor still clung to her body, smearing the contents of her day against the sheets. It was disgusting. How could Arcade be close to her like this?

"Let me get undressed."

He released her and she stood up, more sure on her feet now. There was a clean shirt in her bag. It was enough for now. Her spot on the bed was still warm, but Arcade didn't reach for her again.

"I hope Dr. Henry can help you."

"Yeah." Help had never been her intention.

/

When she woke again the air smelled of alcohol and adhesives. Warmth filled her body, started at her hand and traveled through her arm, finally dissipating in her chest. This room was strange and clean.

Rolling to her side, she now saw it was Arcade holding her hand between both of his. There was something else. There was a drug in her system that stopped the panic, kept it to a low hum nestled against that warm knot. Arcade's eyes widened a little as they met Callie's. Had there been a question about whether she would wake up?

"Hey, hey, don't move." Arcade's hands tensed. That's right, she had attacked him, then fallen asleep, but this was a different room.

"You had another attack in the night." Those still hands still held hers. They had been friends once, right? Callie knew this, and for Arcade nothing was really different than it had been before.

"We gave you a little Med-X, to stop the seizures. It ran longer than I've seen your attacks previously. And they're getting closer together."

Arcade was forthcoming with information about her. He was kind and thoughtful and her friend. Arcade could be trusted.

"We'll let it wear off a bit now that you're stable, but you should rest while you can, Callie. You've had a rough night, okay?"

Releasing her hand, Arcade stood and walked out of her line of sight. With him, the warm knot dissolved into the blanket of suppressed anxiety.

Arcade was good, he was kind, he was her friend.

His voice mixed with two others, playing between tones, female and male. The words were indistinct. They were too far away and Callie couldn't focus them into coherence anyway.

For the first time since she woke from the dead, all her pain was gone, everywhere. Callie wanted to make a fist, flex the fingers on her left hand and then spread them wide, but the fuzziness stopped her. It was a pleasant thought though.

The voices stopped, both internal and external, this was quiet. Pieces of code moved under her eyelids, excerpts from the programs she was constructing for Yes Man, bits and pieces of Benny's plan for taking control of the Strip. Lines of code here and there still felt wrong as they strolled by. The fever of sleep produced statements that were gibberish and Callie couldn't make sense of what they were meant to be. Her mind revised segments without knowing what they said in the first place. She needed to look at her Pip-boy. She wouldn't be able to keep everything straight in her mind. Her arm wouldn't move and her eyes remained closed.

Slipping between dreams, Benny stood before her. He wasn't warm, like Arcade had been in the flesh. A seam ran down his chest, he had been stitched together. Otherwise he was a perfect replica of the real thing. Callie gripped his upper arms as he eased forward to kiss her. Cold, he was cold. But she was still made warm by his advances. Her fingers traced the seam down his chest. That out of place detail in a body she now knew with multiple sets of hands. The seam split open under her ministrations, red flesh tearing in an obscene way, cold as ever. Their lips remained together, pressing with desperation. This still felt like him, like the encounter she had foolishly thought would fix her.

Her healed left hand, with all its dexterity restored, reached into the cavern of his split chest and pulled out lines of code. It spilled out of her left and into her Pip-boy on her right wrist in a swarm of lit green characters. He was rewriting her.

Callie woke screaming, and this time there was no Arcade holding her hand.

Heavy footsteps approached at great speed. Callie bolted upright and shot from the cot. Arms wrapped around her as she fell to the floor and Arcade's voice was there against the shell of her ear, his chest against her back.

"You're okay, you're okay."

The panic that the Med-X had dampened was raging through her, fast and erratic. It was present and then gone, swelling up again and swallowed.

"It's okay, it's okay." He was still in her ear, wishing her down. "Now that's the Callie I know, batshit crazy." Arcade smiled against her neck; she could feel it against her fine hairs.

"What the fuck happened, Arcade."

"Well, first you tried to kill me…"

"That I remember." The panic waves had regulated, present, but quiet. She was still tense in his grip.

"We went to bed and you started convulsing in your sleep. It went on for minutes. Then you began vomiting, choking on it." His chin rested on her shoulder and the hushed tone continued.

"Callie, Henry ran some scans. The equipment here is primitive for the tech he used to have access to, but its still some of the best. He's some of the best. You're rejecting the transplant."

"If someone hadn't fucked with my brain in the first place…" She seethed through gritted teeth.

"We'll deal with Benny later."

Oh, he didn't get it, did he? Of course not. In the process of concealment and disclosure her motives had been anything but transparent to Arcade. No, Benny shot her, shot her to kill her because that's how you get ahead in life. It wasn't malicious or manipulative. How many nameless opponents had she gunned down? How many would Arcade have gotten if he could fucking shoot straight? No, but Dr. Henry had fucked with her. If she had just died she wouldn't have been subjected to this. These endless fits and this pressure to be the savior or the whole goddamn fucking Wasteland when before she had just been a somewhat talented robot jockey who benefited from adequate nutrition during her childhood. The fuck.

"I'm going to die."

"Yeah."

"I knew that."

"Yeah."

They sat together on the floor for a long while. The wood beneath them had been freshly swept, clear of the ever present layer of dirt that wafted through even the enclosed spaces of the Mojave.

The sounds of someone pacing and rifling through boxes punctuated the rhythm of Arcade's breathing next to her.

After awhile, Callie raised her wrist and went to the folder with the programs for Yes Man. The stiffness that the Med-X had concealed seemed amplified now that it had worn off, and her fingers resisted her commands. Still, she worked steadily as Arcade waited for her. Some sort of response was needed to move the air between them.

"This is almost done." She waved her Pip-boy to indicate what 'this' was. "You need to take my Pip-boy back to the Strip when I die. It needs to go to Benny. No one else.

"You don't want me to just kill him?"

Callie couldn't help but laugh, "He'd tear you apart." Her eyes darkened. "Even if you could, I wouldn't want you to."

"Okay." His tone was suspicious, but she had no other choice. If she couldn't physically return to the Strip, then there was no other way to get the programming to Yes Man. She wouldn't even get to see the functioning of the monster she had made.

"Was I kind?" Callie questioned.

"What?"

"Before this, before I died, was I kind?"

"Not really. You were smart, you're still smart. It's hard to be kind in this world when you know how shit it is."

Arcade stood and offered her a hand up. She may not have been well, but she had strength enough to stand, maybe even to shoot.

Laughter fell from her lips. The whole thing was absurd. "I'm not going to die in the Vault, so maybe this was all worth it." It didn't matter if her smile looked sincere, because she knew she meant it.

"Come on, Callie, either get back in bed or we can go shoot things until one of them finally gets you."

Arcade's laser pistol hung at his side, loose and with the carelessness of someone who precision wouldn't help in the slightest. Given the last conversation Arcade made nothing of it when Callie snatched the pistol out of its holster and turned it in her hands, admiring the familiar weight of the standardized weapon.

She was mentally unstable in the most literal way, her functioning had been impaired since Benny shot her. Had it been weeks since that happened? Something like that.

Laser is deceptively quiet as it cuts through air. It can be mistaken for any number of mechanical or digital noises. Or rather, its particular thrum and hiss melts into the noise of life. It's not like a gunshot that rings metallicaly and shatters the ambient noise. How many people had been vaporized in the vault while her hearing had been preoccupied with the rhythmic patterns of robot patter?

One voice in the corner was reduced to ash. The male one. Henry's voice. Her one, critical shot eliminated him without the satisfaction of direct confrontation. The female voice beside the victim erupted into screams.

"Chase me then, Arcade. Be the something that gets me."

His eyes were wide, fearful. Hand-to-hand his advantage was different, but with an energy weapon in her hand, Callie was a threat to anyone.

"I killed your friend, right Arcade? Chase me." She didn't hesitate again and darted through the open window, folding her body to fit. Unless Arcade was secretly a world-class contortionist, he would have to go around to the front door, putting her too far in the lead for him to catch up before she died.


	16. The Something that gets Me

By escaping through the window, Callie was certain she had bought enough time. Arcade wouldn't have fit, and while he might be able to catch her at close range, over a distance she was confident she had the endurance advantage.

Her legs carried her towards Westside. The closer she made it to the Strip, the better. Yes Man's radio receiver certainly would still be too far away, but still, she could rely on Arcade to carry her Pip-boy the rest of the way. He would probably still carry out her last wish, despite all that she had done, assuming that it was a trap intended for Benny. The closer she was to the Strip, the less time Arcade would have to change his mind.

Dust filled her lungs as it swirled around her feet and rose in the air. She took deep gasps of air, the little particles burning in her lungs. Only a couple years on the outside and the Wastes were already diminishing her Vault advantages. She didn't feel tired, not yet, and she couldn't hear Arcade. Had he simply given up? That wouldn't do. Benny needed the program. Maybe she could hold out long enough to get within Yes Man's radio range, if she made it all the way to the Strip, as long as she kept her pace up and she didn't have an unanticipated attack. She resolved to simply run past any raiders she might encounter, their attention span was generally short.

"Where you going so fast, Girlie?"

Callie could have sworn he was a hallucination if not for those arms wrapping around her waist, holding back her sprint. His hands came to rest in the small of her back and while she hadn't felt tired before, it was now clear that she was exhausted as her adrenaline sharply dropped off. She sank against Benny's chest despite herself.

"What are you even doing here?" She spoke between labored breaths.

"What I should have done from the start, coming with you." He moved one hand from her waist and buried it in her hair, supporting her neck like it might crack under the weight of her skull.

"No, you have more important things to do. I couldn't ask."

"And I shouldn't have needed you to ask. I should have told you I was coming."

They were standing in the open, utterly exposed. She was on the run from a justifiably enraged former-friend and Benny was a power player of New Vegas that half a dozen different factions probably wanted to eliminate. Still, there was something liberating about the interplay of deterioration and exposure. Callie felt ready for the Wasteland to finally eat her up. This would prove just how not-superior she was. This would show all the fuckers who asked her for help, thinking that she was the ticket to solving the problems of the Mojave in their own favor.

"Let's go home." Benny moved his arms so both his hands rested on her shoulders and pulled away to get a good look at her face. It didn't change the intimacy level between them. Callie wasn't sure what it was he was looking for in her face. Some sort of trace of Mint? Even though they had both accepted that this wasn't her body. Hell, as time progressed and the brain tissue presumably had continued to reject, she had fewer and fewer memories of the woman with the strange magics and history with Benny. Their present moments together stood much more vividly.

Callie scrunched her nose "Home? Benny, I'm dying."

"We're all dying, Girlie. Can't change that." His smile was something, oddly soft, foreign on his lips.

"No, like, in an immediate sense. Besides, I'm not your girl, I'm not Mint."

"Didn't say you were her. But I thought you were still my girl. As much as you're anyone's girl."

He pulled her back against his chest, which was a welcome relief. At least she didn't have to keep looking at that strange, soft, authentic smile. And this way she didn't have to worry about controlling her own expressions. He couldn't see her smile back. That was a relief.

"I hate to break this too you" she started, pushing back emotion as far as it would go. "There might be a 6'4" Followers researcher with a laser pistol and a grudge coming by any second now."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Suppose not."

He released her and went for the 9mm at his hip. Not the one he shot her with. A nondescript one you could pick up at any Wasteland trader. He seemed to test the weight of it in his hands, as if it were an unfamiliar item.

"That wasn't an invitation to kill him," she interjected.

With Arcade still nowhere in sight, Benny tucked the gun away again into the waistband of his slacks.

"Is he going to kill you?"

"He's going to try," she couldn't help the smile that crept on her lips, thinking about it. Because this smile had a tinge of hardness, of malice and mocking, she wasn't ashamed of it. "He's a piss poor shot though. So no, he's not going to kill me. But he is going to try."

Benny took her hand in his and turned them back towards Vegas as if it was a casual, romantic night out for the two of them.

"Let's enjoy the walk then."

"You know, when I said I was going to die, I did mean soon and I didn't mean Arcade."

Her hand was sweaty and hot in his, but she didn't break the contact, no matter how uncomfortable.

"You may have meant it, but that doesn't make it true. You may have a habit of changing the world around you, but so do I. This death wish of yours hasn't quite turned out like you've expected."

"I'm rejecting the transplant from…I'm pretty sure rejecting part of your brain is a bad thing. You've seen the side effects."

His hand tensed around hers at the mention of her fits.

"We're going to the Lucky 38." There was resolve in his statement.

Callie burst into laughter, doubling over at the waist and gripping Benny's hand like a vise the whole time.

"That's it after all," she spat bitterly through her smile. "You need me like everyone else needs me. Listen, I made the executable for Yes Man because I like that shit. But this shooting shit, this hero of the Wasteland plot of everyone's, I couldn't give a fuck about that. Not for you and not for anyone else." The words seethed through her. She meant them from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and all her pores in between.

"It's not for that, Callie."

Had they the time, she might have lingered on the use of her name, or even the fact that it felt like her name now, completely and utterly. That his saying her name moved her, permeated through her. He used her name for her and it made her stomach constrict something awful and her palms go dry.

She would have reflected on all of this had a laser beam not sailed three feet to the right of her head.

"You weren't lying about his being a terrible shot." Benny let go of her hand to reach for the generic pistol in his waistband. His turn was casual and unhurried to face their attacker. Maybe Callie should have made more of an effort to stop him.

"You weren't lying about the big or angry bits either."

Arcade stood maybe twenty yards away, gripping his laser pistol tightly with both hands. Amateur. He was sweating with exertion and at some point he had managed to tear up his pant legs at the knees and, if the brown-red crust was any indication, he had torn up the flesh of his knees too. Probably fell down like a clown at some point in his run. His face was red but still had that familiar expression of anger and shock she had presumably left him with.

"I'll suggest you don't fire again, because you'll miss and I won't." Benny was so casual in his threats, they almost seemed like friendly suggestions.

Arcade dropped the gun like a coward and doubled over, breathing heavily and showing his empty hands only after he had sucked in several breaths. "Oh fuck me, what kind of set up is this, Callie?"

"Just turn around, Arcade, head back to Jacobstown, they can patch you up." Despite everything, there was concern in her voice. She had intended the sentence to come out as a threat, but it just wouldn't.

"You kill the doctor who tried to help you, you betray your friends, all to shack up with the man who tried to kill you? The man who succeeded in killing you?" He was slowly raising himself up as he caught his breath, but kept his hands visible out of fear.

"Go, Arcade, go."

"I thought you wanted revenge on him, on all the people who wronged you, but this is fucked up Callie, this is fucked up."

"Yeah," what was this lump in her throat, fuck she hated emotions. Why would a seizure never grip her when she just wanted out of a conversation? Just her luck.

"Dr. Henry tried to help you, I tried to help you, but what the fuck. You kill him and now you're siding with the person who did this to you? Is that what's happening here?"

'I tried to help you,' it was the morbid piece of information she didn't want. The one thing from Arcade she may have asked but never really wanted answered. He knew. He was involved.

The bile in her throat overtook the lump and she retched on the ground, all over her boots. Again, all over her boots again. Fuck. Her vision darkened but she could still hear shots, the 9mm twice, Arcade's shout, but in surprise, not pain or anguish. The 9mm again. Then nothing.

When she woke it was to a blanket of stars, dimmed by the light pollution of the Strip. A thin blanket covered her and her shoes had been removed, leaving her socked feet sticking out from under the blanket. She wiggled her toes, they still worked. Not dead, damn.

With a groan she managed to sit up, and her movement must have caught Benny's eye. Before saying anything he offered her a bottle of water. She accepted and drank.

"Is this a bad time to pick up our previous conversation?" He hadn't made a fire, but she could still make out the features of his face, and the night was warm enough she tossed the blanket aside. He had nestled her against a concrete wall again. They were no closer to the Strip than they had been earlier in the day. They were maybe a few yards away from where they had encountered Arcade, at most.

She considered asking about Arcade, but thought better of it. It was one of those things on her list of information she didn't really want to have. If Benny had killed him, was she now obligated to hate Benny too? So many enemies and so little time. So little desire to take revenge now too. It was like Dr. Henry ate all the revenge for her. He was the last on her hit list from the time she was finding herself. Part of her almost forgave Veronica too. Maybe Callie had never wanted revenge at all, maybe that was all Mint's doing. Less revenge about being kept alive with foreign parts and more revenge from an eternal peace disturbed.

When she ended up saying nothing at all, Benny sat down with his back against the concrete wall, pulling her up into a sitting position and resting her back against his chest. His hands came to rest on her abdomen and she didn't fight his manipulations of her. As she relaxed, she let her head rest on his shoulder; she put her own small hands over his.

"We're not going to the Lucky 38 for Not-at-Home. Not yet, at least."

Callie only managed to grunt a bit, words still seemed very far away from her lips, even as they swam around her head.

"Yes Man started inventorying the other robots in the 38. Getting as detailed a plan as he could manage with your restrictions."

"Mm," talk of bots got her words going again. "It would be able to ping each bot on the network individually, but not all at once. Check what ips are up on the network. Maybe find out the manufacturer by MAC…"

Benny's hands moved under hers, escaping from her loose restrictions. They moved to the hem of her shirt, lifting it a bit in order to instead sit on the bare flesh of her waist. His thumbs made little circles there.

"There's an autodoc, a good one, probably in perfect condition." His hands continued to stroke at her lazily and this time when he paused he pressed his lips against the exposed flesh of her neck. Without her explicit consent, her vocal cords rendered another little satisfied noise.

"It wouldn't be able to tell the condition of any of the bots." Benny's right hand unsnapped her pants, loosening them at the waist. "With the restrictions I put on it, it'd only be able to tell if they reply back."

Benny hummed against her neck and continued moving his hands, first the one on her stomach, then slipping the other beneath the elastic of her underwear. Working her in slow, deliberate motions, this time he didn't make assumptions about what she would like. It didn't feel hauntingly as if he was expecting someone more petite. That slow, burning confidence was there, but not the practice of habit. The hand on her stomach moved higher, nearly covering her breast, squeezing and releasing. While earlier he seemed to want to have this conversation about Yes Man and the fucking Strip and all the fucking problems in Vegas, it seemed temporarily set aside.

Her thighs and abdomen clenched as she inched closer to her release, his fingers dancing against her, reacting to her breaths and sighs. Maddeningly he pulled back, letting her loosen again and sink back against his chest. It hadn't occurred to her that she had pulled away from him. His hand on her breast went from squeezing to ghosting over her nipple, bringing her back on edge. One of his fingers slid into her, despite the tightness of her pants still confining them both. His wrist was severely restricted but he made due. His thumb circled her clit again and he curled the finger inside her, it was all so much, and this time it was undoubtedly for her.

"Callie…" Just against the shell of her ear.

She knew better than to scream into the darkness that surrounded them, lest she attract the attention of…well, anything really. Ten thousand ways to die out here, to think a silly thing like an orgasm would take them out. Since when did her self-preservation instinct kick back in?

"Benny." It dropped from her mouth with a heaviness she hadn't expected. It was nearly a resignation. Maybe she was his girl, after all. Only if he would be hers though. Silly sentimentality. But it was sentimentality that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

He withdrew his hand from her pants and wiped it against his own pant leg. She was boneless against him. The thought crossed her mind that she should do something for him, but he felt only half-hard against the small of her back and he said nothing on the matter. In reality, she was too exhausted, too caught up in herself and the concept of a "them" to really consider him.

"Please, House would have the best autodoc available sealed up with him before he closed that tomb of his. It's our best chance of getting you fixed."

"Maybe I don't want to be fixed."

"Stop being an idiot." The harshness of his response struck her. It wasn't anger, maybe it was frustration. He wanted this, he really wanted to try and save her. "You don't really want to die."

"How do you know that? You don't even know me."

"Stop being an idiot," this time it was definitely frustration. "I'm a good judge of character. And you're a character I want to keep around."

She sat in silence, hoping that he would fill it so she wouldn't have to. In the Vault she had spent plenty of time in silence, working on broken down machines that wouldn't talk back, hiding from the whispers about her. But this silence in the Wasteland, pressed up against someone she didn't altogether mind the company of, this was suffocating.

"And I know I'm a good judge of character. I became chief because of a knife fight but I kept it by keeping people happy, content. Let me do this for you." There were those kisses all around her neck again.

"Why?" Because she was useful. This would always be her assumption.

"This isn't a barter system. Life doesn't actually work like that."

She laughed, a girlish chuckle at the absurdity of his statement. "Of course it is."

"Okay, well, maybe life works like a barter system, but not when…not when you're fun."

"Right, you're fun too." He couldn't see her face like this, so she didn't bother to hide her smile any further. Good with people, eh? Then why was he just as shit at saying something meaningful as she was? She had all the excuses in the world not to open up to him. As far as she was concerned, he had none. The reality was probably somewhere in the middle.

"Callie, turn around, face me."

She pushed her smile back, deadening her face, even in the darkness. She scooted away from him so she could turn around, draping her legs around his waist and straddling him. Physical intimacy wasn't her problem, she had already gotten used to that much.

In the glow of the Strip Benny looked somehow younger. The low lighting erased the wrinkles developing at the corners of his eyes and around the curve of his lip. Callie hadn't paid much mind to the difference in their ages, though he had. She had previously been carrying around Mint's memories from years ago in a body equally young to the girl who had died. He had grown older though in the interim.

"I love you, Callie."

"No you don't." Well, that was a cement truck of a confession. Even though she wouldn't believe it, it made her feel giddy. Stupid girl. "You loved Mint."

"Yeah, I did." He put his hands on her upper arms, holding her in place. "This happens. You can love more than one person in your life."

"No, you don't."

"Listen to me, Callie. You think life works like some silly romance novel? Like you get one shot at happiness and if you fuck up once you don't get another chance? You believe some soul mate shit? You're smarter than that." His tone softened towards the end. "I spent a long time grieving Mint. She was important, but she's gone. You brought a piece of her back, maybe, but I wouldn't trade her now for you. You're here, you're alive, and you're completely brilliant and beautiful, and a little bit crazy."

She laughed at the mention of her insanity. As if she were alone on that island. Benny shook her slightly, bringing her out of her laughter and back down to the quiet between them in the darkness around them. He was serious, and she couldn't quite adjust. His fingers dug into her arm, holding her in place, holding her in the moment between them.

"This is my proposal to you. We'll get the autodoc, then you can be rid of me if you still want. I can't force you to love me back."

If she was lucky, he wouldn't see her blush. Or maybe, if she were lucky, he would but wouldn't push the issue further. It wasn't that easy, just shifting gears from self-destruction to self-preservation. But she had gone after him, hadn't she? Even when she was unsure of who she was and what she was doing, where she was going, what she wanted, she had pursued him. But that had been another her, hadn't it?

Still the words stuck in her. Her Pip-boy felt heavy on her arm; her head felt heavy on her neck; again Benny's hand was in her hair, holding her up.

"Please," and he had seemed so out-of-place-vulnerable that she couldn't help but bring her lips to his. The way he met hers, so sweet and relenting. This might have been her consent to the whole thing, that as sure as he was in his words, his kiss betrayed insecurity. He still needed her to come to meet him.

Placing her hands on each side of his face, Callie met him.


End file.
